


Hold Me Closer, Kevin Bacon

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [6]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: With the Sokovia Accords still firmly in place and the Avengers divided by politics, ego, and half the globe, Steve Rogers is left with difficult choices to make certain that Bucky gets the treatment he needs and they all stay out of a military prison. Darcy Lewis just wants to finish her degree and eat her damn taco. Organizations bent on domination always seem to pop up at the worst possible moment. But then, so does Tony Stark, so maybe it's just fate.  *Takes place 9/8/16-10/13/16





	1. Shaken, Not Stirred

**_September 8, 2016_ **

 

“That’s it?” Sam looked skeptical, and no one could blame him after almost six months hiding out in Central Africa, trying to find time bombs in a man’s brain. Wanda gave a snort, clearly communicating that she didn’t think the process had been too easy.

“That was the last one.” Steve Rogers crouched down to get a better look at Bucky. “You back with us, jerk?”

Sam continued while they waited for Bucky to catch his breath, “You realize that even if that was the last one, this isn’t where it ends, right?”

“Yeah, I got it, Sam. Therapy for everyone. I’ll be there will bells on, I promise.”

“I’d pay a nickel to see that,” Bucky croaked out.

Steve couldn’t help the wash of relief that fell over him. He had to sit down it was so overwhelming. Buck looked exhausted, even worse than he had on the Helicarrier in DC when he was still under HYDRA’s control. Wakanda’s medical technology was light years ahead of what had been used on the Winter Soldier for decades, and a hell of a lot more humane, but being frozen and thawed a couple of times a month would take the stuffing out of anyone. Super soldier or no. “Hey, Buck,” he greeting his best friend softly.

“Damage?” The question was asked without inflection, and it made Steve’s chest hurt. Bucky always asked the same thing when he came out of an episode. His first concern was always who he had hurt, what he had destroyed.

“You’re getting weak in your old age,” Sam answered. “Nothing broken that wasn’t already, and you didn’t even get a hit in on me. Maybe you need more fiber in your diet? Metamucil? We could probably get you some of that.”

“Say that a little closer.”

Steve chuckled. Bucky wasn’t smiling, but the teasing with Sam was a good thing. The two had a healthy competition going on to see who could antagonize the other into losing his cool. Sometimes it made Steve wonder what it was about him that made him like hanging out with cocky, mouthy apes that didn’t have manners unless their mothers or a pretty girl were in the room.

“Why, you gonna give me a love tap, Sarge? Already forget the last time we tussled?”

And that was why he stuck around with the two greatest friends he could have ever hoped for. Despite his lack of serum or any connection to Bucky, and his relatively new association with Steve, Sam had followed him into battle. He went up against the American government and about every other government on Earth. He followed Steve to Wakanda – away from his own family – and spent every second he wasn’t training or working out how to fix Bucky with helping Steve not fall into guilty depression. He went toe to toe with Buck – no flinching – every time Natasha sent a clue about the triggers. Sam was the best kind of person.

“Yeah, must have. What with the spaghetti arm you got behind that right hook.”

And Bucky. _Jesus._ He had been ground down to almost nothing. Most men would have given up and put a bullet in their brains already. That wasn’t to say that Buck hadn’t thought about it. He had, Steve was all too aware. At the end of the day, though, he didn’t. He still wanted to live, wanted to get better, refused to give up. Even when that meant going back into the ice again. And again. And again. Steve felt a phantom shiver across his shoulders. He wasn’t sure he could have done it, in Bucky’s place. His own memory of going under with the Tesseract was short – but painfully sharp. That sort of cold, the brief minutes it took him to freeze, it had a special, dark, hellish place in his mind. The courage required to move forward and step into the cryo tank each time was what set Bucky apart from other men. Sam said the other veteran was just too stubborn to die. There was probably more than a grain of truth to that.

The other two men continued to pick at each other, Wanda listening in amusement, while Steve considered the possibilities for their future. They were still outlaws, although the fervor for their capture had died down significantly. Wanda had kept a close eye on social media and apprised Steve of the growing movement worldwide to clear his name. It helped that he had continued to do what he did best, helping people. It certainly didn’t hurt that Iron Man and the Avengers had never publicly supported his fugitive status, instead keeping to a firm _no comment_.  In America, the presidential election had swept aside a lot of the news coverage. For better or worse, a tight race meant more focus on the candidates tearing each other down and less of a spotlight on actual issues. Like whether or not to uphold the Sokovian Accords and hunt down the First Avenger. Steve had never much cared for the title – or the dog and pony show that he seemed to get caught up in every time he tangled with the government – but he would gladly don the old tights and jump in front of a camera if that would get clean records for the rest of his team.

All those thoughts had been pushed onto the backburner for the past six months while he tried to get Bucky stable. With T’Challa’s help, Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Clint had saved lives on small and large scales – stepping in wherever the Avengers couldn’t because of politics. Natasha had fed them information, not just on the search for Bucky’s triggers and medical details, but on intel that couldn’t or wouldn’t be acted on unless Steve took the initiative.  Scott Lang went home after a well-deserved vacation in tropical Wakanda. Despite Steve’s misgivings, Scott had no concerns about his freedom. Regardless of the Accords, he was a felon and had run from the law before. He felt more comfortable doing so on his own turf, near his daughter, where he had friends, family, and a significant portion of the SFPD on his side.  And Tony…

Tony still hadn’t called. Steve wasn’t sure what he had expected when he sent the phone, but he wouldn’t deny he was disappointed by the radio silence. Publicly, Tony Stark continued to abide by the Accords – although he was just as much of an underhanded ass about it as ever on television. Privately, he had to know Natasha was helping Steve. A lot of the information she fed into Wakanda was earmarked by Friday’s servers. Tony never said anything to her though, and didn’t seem interested in directing Friday to stop any leaks.

There was the arm, too.

In July, on Steve’s birthday of all days, a set of encrypted blueprints had been sent to T’Challa. They were preliminary designs for a vibranium prosthetic arm. Every few weeks after that updates and changes were sent, never with any notes. A prototype was sitting in a lab next door to the cryo chamber. Bucky had refused to even consider it until he was sure he controlled his own mind, completely. Now that he did, there were additional issues to resolve. T’Challa felt confident in the skills of his medical personal, but he had expressed concerns about the mechanical integration. It went unspoken that it would be better, safer, if Tony could be there when the arm was attached. But Tony hadn’t called, and the Accords were still in effect.

_More stubborn and brilliant that anyone I’ve ever met,_ Steve thought. _Except maybe Howard._

There were so many things that needed to be done, so many decisions to make, and Bucky’s recovery had been the last obstacle to moving forward with a long-term plan. That wasn’t Steve’s strong suit. Decisions on the fly, battle tactics, diversions and shoot-from-the hip plans while under fire? Those he had no problem with. Figuring out how to put his country, maybe even the entire world, back on track seemed beyond his skill set. He hadn’t even finished college. _Didn’t even get to officer training school,_ he reminded himself with an internal sigh.  It didn’t matter. His own shortcomings were inconsequential because the others were looking to him to lead, and no one more prepared was standing up to try and do what was right. Where once he had been a skinny, sick kid full of ideas and determination but held back by a body that allowed others to ignore him, now no one ignored what he had to say, but he wasn’t always sure he knew what to do anymore.  He had plans, so many plans which he had agonized over, but moving forward was going to set him – all of them – on a path they wouldn’t be able to get off for a long time. It was exhausting, to shoulder that responsibility.

For a moment he closed his eyes and allowed his chin to fall to his chest. A light touch on the back of the neck had him straightening.

“We are ready to be finished, yes?” Wanda squatted down next to him, careful not to let her ripped, _on purpose if you can believe the waste_ , jeans touch the dirty floor.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “If you’re ready Barnes, Wanda can do a last look-see?”

Bucky brushed his hair from his eyes and held out his only hand. “Go ahead, kid.”  He grunted when she made contact with his palm, but his continued to watch her. Steve nearly held his breath. Without Wanda, everything would have been much more difficult. She had helped find the memories, the psychological blocks, that Natasha alerted them to and then stood by as backup while Steve and Sam helped Bucky work through them. Either by talking or beating each other bloody. Buck had been reluctant, understandably, to let someone else into his head, but Wanda had convinced him, given him access to some of her more personal memories in exchange.

The process had been beneficial to her as well. Steve watched the side of her face, her careful breathing and the flutter of eye movement under her lids. What she did for Bucky required fine control, testing her limits. It also gave her a measure of peace by doing something selfless. It would never erase for her the guilt of the deaths she had accidentally caused, but seeing some of what Bucky had gone through helped her understand that it was, truly, an accident.

“ _Yak svizhyy syr_ ,” she muttered to herself. Bucky let out a short bark of laughter and Wanda smiled back at him as she opened her eyes and broke contact. “It is done, Steve.”

Steve let out a shaky breath and caught the eye of his oldest friend. Sam and Wanda high-fived. Bucky nodded, once and slowly, before a tiny smile ticked up the corner of his mouth. Finally, Steve had his friend back. Safe and whole. Mostly whole.

“We ready for departure, folks?” Clint spoke over the comm from his position on the roof. Steve knew he owed an enormous debt there as well. It had been six months since Clint had seen his family in person. He had missed baby Nathan’s first birthday, and a host of other milestones. He never complained, though. More than anyone else, Clint knew how important it was to secure Bucky’s mind.

Steve held out a hand to help Buck off of the floor. “Yes,” he replied, “let’s head out. We have a lot to do.”

“Live a little, man,” Sam laughed. “We got to celebrate the successes, right?”

“We can celebrate when we meet up with Scott,” Steve conceded. They all walked out to the battered jeep that would carry them back over the border and into Wakanda.

Wanda requested, "Tell him to bring that Luis guy, too, if he can leave San Francisco. I much enjoyed his stories."

"You're the only one," Sam muttered.

Clint tossed the keys to Wanda and slid into the front passenger seat. “Don’t worry,” the archer assured everyone, “I know a great place for tequila just outside Rancho Dominguez.”

“Can’t get drunk,” Bucky said at the same time that Steve reminded them, “Alcohol doesn’t do anything for me.” Clint snorted and Sam shook his head in sympathy.

“I believe you Americans say,” Wanda started the engine, “more for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yak svizhyy syr: Like fresh cheese.


	2. We Don't Need No Water

**_October 12_ **

 

“So they couldn’t even begin the review?” Pepper handed Darcy a glass of wine and sat adjacent to her on a low-slung peacock blue couch that brought out flecks of color in the Jawlensky painting behind her.

“I mean, they all have the copies I emailed out before the meeting, so technically they could be going through it. But the University requires a board of three at every thesis hearing, and Dr. Goraslazw got called to D.C. He does some consulting for the diplomatic corps.” Darcy toed off her flats and tucked her feet under her, happy to settle in for a long evening of drinks, desserts, and chatting with Pepper Potts. She had never admitted it out loud, not even to Jane, but she had a little bit of a girl crush on the CEO. Maybe even some hero worship. The woman was brilliant, powerful, and her  _ shoes _ . Darcy had seen the Malibu closet once. It deserved its own shrine.

“They couldn’t get a replacement?” Pepper pulled out a few hairpins and her sleek ponytail tumbled around her shoulders like an ad for expensive shampoo.

“They don’t have anyone else on staff with the security clearance to review my source documentation. Thank you, again, by the way, for helping me get access to everything.”

Pepper waved a hand. “It was the least I could do after you talked down that scientist at the LA facility that was trying to exterminate his colleagues. You saved lives, and millions of Stark Industries payouts. Besides, it is gratifying to see someone with some sense going through the Accords.” She took another sip. “Have they rescheduled you yet?”

“Not yet,” Darcy sighed. “I have time, I guess. This is just the first of two reviews before my final presentation next spring. I just really wanted to get another perspective before the winter break, and with all the calendar conflicts it probably won’t happen until January.” She snorted and reached into the massive shoulder bag slumped against her chair, “Plus, I paid a small fortune – like enough for a month of lattes – to print off hard copies, and now they will be wasted. I’ll have to reprint before the meeting again.” Her thesis, three hundred pages of presentation, dissection, conclusion, and documentation with color diagrams and tables, made a heavy thump as she set it on the coffee table. Darcy glowered at it, thinking of the price of deforestation and how it directly exchanged into caffeinated beverages and tacos.

“If you don’t mind,” Pepper raised her eyebrows and gave a hesitant smile, “I would love to read it. I could give you some feedback – not anything as insightful as you would from other political theorists, I’m sure, but perhaps-”

“Oh, god, seriously Pepper?” Darcy could not believe her luck. In the two and a half years since she had first met Pepper Potts, they had gone from a professional association that left Darcy in awe to a friendship that was strange and unbelievable and extremely gratifying. Pepper might not have a poly-sci degree, but she ran an international company and made billion dollar deals every other day. She negotiated with the likes of Tony Stark, Warren Buffet, and Lei Fanpei and came out on top. Not to mention, she had first-hand experience with more than one Avenger. It was good to be friends with Pepper Potts. “That would be amazing. Just,” sudden hesitation overwhelmed her. Darcy was proud of her work, she had poured a ton of effort into that paper already and the topic was pretty close to her heart. It was probably the best thing she'd ever done – which also meant that if it sucked, well, she didn't want to think about how that reflected on her. “It’s a work in progress, you know? I’m only about forty-five percent done with the final section, and I haven’t started on the exec summary yet. And I need at least two more rough edits before I can move on to-”

Thankfully, Pepper cut off her babbling. “I am sure it will be great.” She set down her glass and picked up the bound copy before standing gracefully. “I’ll put this by my bed – so much better reading than the financial prospectus I was going to get to tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take you away from anything important.” Darcy tried to sound sincere, but she didn’t think she managed that. She definitely wanted to have Pepper read her paper.

“Don’t worry about it,” Pepper called over her shoulder as she disappeared into another part of the house. Darcy stared out through the wall of glass to the ocean far below, wondering if Pepper ever had nightmare about the old house and Mandarin. They had only spoken of it once. There weren’t many people that knew Pepper had been in the house during the attack – fewer who knew what had happened afterward. Darcy understood that keeping it a secret was a security issue for Pepper and Tony, but she also understood that it was difficult to talk about to a normal person. Only Darcy’s parents and her mom’s wife knew the whole story about the Destroyer, and she hadn’t told them all the details about London. It was too hard to make someone who had never experienced real danger to understand what it had been like. That and it freaked out Darcy’s dad to think that she had fought against aliens. He was still sending her brochures about self-defense classes and the requirements for concealed carry permits.

“Do you want New York Style, Dark Raspberry, Turtle, or the Mango Triple-Cream?” Pepper padded barefooted back through the room and into the kitchen.

Darcy turned to rest her chin on the back of her chair and grin at Pepper over the wide vetrazzo island. "Do we have to choose?” Pepper laughed and swiftly returned with a crystal plate of bite-sized cheesecakes. Darcy’s mouth began to water and she did her best to maintain the fiction of conversation while she plotted in what order to begin her taste-test. “So, enough about my un-ending college career and inevitable slide into student loan debt. What’s up with you? Big Board meeting this week, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Pepper gave an inelegant snort. “There is a contingent of ancient hold-outs on the Board, from Howard's heyday, who are slavering over the tension at Pym Tech.”

“Their CEO disappeared, right?” Darcy waved a cheesecake in the air.

“That's the official word, but Natasha has made some rather pointed comments about Scott Lang that lead me to believe no one will be finding Darren Cross any time soon. It has created a power vacuum over there. Hank Pym was a contemporary of Howard's. They had an...adversarial friendship.”

“Frenemies? Do men do that?”

“Apparently. But Hank was ousted by the Board before Cross took over, and he doesn't have controlling interest by himself. If he and his daughter were on the same page, they could steer the company, but they have been in a Cold War since her childhood – according to Tony. All that disarray at SI's biggest competitor has lead to talk that we should buy them out.” She viciously bit into a Mango Triple-Cream and swallowed. “Even the intern who delivers my mail could list the problems with that idea.”

“Inquires into price-setting, patent fraud, and monopolies,” Darcy suggested.

“Yes, and that is only the legal end. I spent hours in private meetings with board members one-on-one trying to explain to them the benefit of competition in research and the marketplace.”

“Nobody wanted to fund space exploration after it was just about the science and not about rubbing the Soviets’ faces in the dirt,” Darcy agreed. “So did they go for it?”

“Barely,” Pepper snorted and took a large sip of wine. “I have about a third of the Board solidly on my side, and another third at least willing to hold off until after the new year and see who Pym Tech selects as the next CEO. If I am lucky, it will be Van Dyne – she’s smart, professional, and not tied to antiquated ideas. If I’m unlucky, Hank will be in the mix and then it will be all hands on deck to keep Tony from inciting some sort of intercostal pissing contest.

“I imagine robots, cyber warfare, and probably mutated houseplants or something.”

“Don’t give him any ideas. He’s preoccupied with the whole Accords issue right now, but having his Dad’s old nemesis on the playing field could probably pull him back into impromptu press conferences and three-day benders with the SI engineers.”

“Ms. Potts,” Friday interrupted politely, “your dinner has arrived at the gate, and security is clearing the delivery person now. Shall I lower the shades for your movie?”

“Yes, thank you Friday. You go ahead and pick,” she told Darcy, “I’ll sign for the food and be right back.”

The moment Pepper was out of earshot, Friday spoke again, “Ms. Lewis, I was directed not to notify Ms. Potts, but I feel you would like to know that Mr. Stark has accosted the delivery person and is approaching the front door now.”

“What? Why?” It took Darcy a few seconds to process, and she almost immediately regretted asking. She was pretty sure she knew why. At their last girls’ night, Pepper had confided that she was going to lay down a few ground rules for a new relationship with Tony. Darcy had gathered that it had not gone as well as it could have. Pepper was left with a tight jaw and pinched eyebrows for a week.

Friday began before Darcy could stop her, “He has been sending apologies for six days, but Ms. Potts insisted that he think about their discussion and return only when he was ready to, and I quote her, ‘speak like an adult for at least ten minutes’.” A boisterous greeting drifted to Darcy from the entry-way, followed by a low murmur from Pepper.

“Maybe I should just…” Darcy juggled her shoes and wine in one hand and her bag in the other.

“If I may suggest, Ms. Lewis? Ms. Potts has had your usual guest room prepared for you. Distance from the master suite and excellent construction practices should prevent your sleep from being disturbed.”

“Thanks, Fri,” Darcy let out a relieved breath. She didn’t have a car in LA – she usually borrowed one from Pepper – and she hadn’t been looking forward to trying to find a hotel so late in the evening. Her Little Sister was planning on having lunch together with her the next day, and Darcy was not going to be late just because she couldn’t afford a cab. She shoved her shoes into her bag and snagged the open wine and a bottle of water from the kitchen on her way through. “Let me know if Tony takes off and / or Pepper decides she wants company.”

“Of course, Ms. Lewis. I took the liberty of bringing up your Netflix que in the guest room.”

“That’s kind of an invasion of privacy, Fri. A little creepy. Awesome, sure, and I totally love that you did it for me. But just so you know, a little creepy.

“I will take note of that. Good night, Ms. Lewis.”

“Sweet dreams, Friday.”


	3. Fun and Games

**_October 13_ **

 

“Are you moonlighting as a University professor, now? I think there is a clause in our relationship that prevents you from taking a new job without notifying me first. In writing. In advance. Although,” Tony was on a roll, practically bouncing out of the master suite and into the kitchen, and Pepper saved the document she was working on. It was always best to give Tony her full attention. Not doing so resulted in issues. An 11-month slander litigation in 2008. The Espresso Debacle of 2010. Iron Man. The return of Iron Man. Ultron. The Great Home Renovation of 2016. A half-hour of lost work time could save her millions  _ and _ prevent tension headaches.

“Although,” he said again, pecking her on the cheek and rounding the island to head for the coffee maker, “if you are thinking academia, we could get you some glasses. The kind with the black frames. I was too young - and my professors not nearly attractive enough - when I was at MIT, so this is really my chance to try for extra credit.” He pressed a button for cuban black and kept going without pause. “I’ll turn in my work late, and then you pull off your glasses and say-”

“Tony,” she interrupted before he could get any further into a fantasy he had obviously spent some time developing. Not that she was opposed. Tony was nothing if not attentive and creative in the bedroom. “What is this about?”

“Oooo - I like that, very leading. And then you sit on the edge of your desk and-”

She laughed. Pepper couldn’t help it. It had been less than twelve hours since Tony Stark had shown up at her door, a large Bianca pizza from  _ Gravina Malibu _ in hand, and a grin on his face. Despite the smile, he had been nervous. He tended to avoid eye contact when he was, in addition to talking over everyone else. He had bulldozed - in his most charming way, of course - and brought up a hundred innocuous topics before he had gotten around to apologizing for his most recent insistence that he was right.  Tony had come around to her way of thinking, which was a rare enough event, and Friday had assured Pepper that Darcy had gone to bed. Hostessing duties relieved, she had taken the rare opportunity to revel in a contrite and genuine Tony Stark, extremely dedicated intimate activities, and her favorite pizza. She had woken that morning to find Tony still asleep and her own mind as unburdened as it ever was. It was a good day.

Tony pouted, but the expression was hard to take seriously because his eyes sparkled and he had to hide a twitching smile behind his cup. “This is for your benefit, Potts. If you don’t take communicating with your partner seriously, I’ll tattle on you to my therapist.”

“My benefit?” She raised an eyebrow and let her voice get a little husky. As always, Tony sucked in his lower lip when she did that. After a decade as his assistant/keeper and years as his girlfriend/keeper it was still gratifying that he found her attractive. “This sounds like it’s to your benefit.”

“I could be persuaded to compromise.” He leaned across the island, pressing her laptop closed with one finger. “I’m all about compromise. What will do it for you? Ruler? Rosary beads? School uniform? Me in a school uniform?”

“Thesis,” she said, inches from his mouth.

His eyes held hers, and Pepper melted a little at the happiness she saw there. It wasn’t the sex - well, it wasn’t entirely the sex. Tony had never had many people that were close to him, fewer still after Stane. She felt good, honored, that he was letting himself be happy and relaxed with her. 

“No problem. How do you feel about thermodynamics? I’d love to review heat exchange formulae with you.”

Pepper laughed again, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth and sitting back. “That had to be one of your worst lines. Ever.”

“No way,” he contested, swinging around the island to press against her side. “I’ve done way worse than that. I’ve done worse that that with you. This year. This month, even.”

“Not really a selling point, Tony.” She reached for her juice and looked pointedly at the thick manuscript tucked under his arm.

“Okay, okay. How about we go over my formatting, Professor. You can show me how to do it Chicago style.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“How about you tell me why you have Darcy’s thesis, and then maybe I’ll show you what I bought this week.”

“Silky?”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

“La Perla?”

“Their new line comes out next week. George sent over one of everything.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, and Pepper let her smile free. His hair, at least a quarter silver - although he consistently protested it was no more than 18%, was still wet from his shower. His dress shirt already had the sleeves rolled up and his feet were bare. He looked normal. Not tense or anxious. Not angry or hurt. Preoccupied only with ways to get her into, and then out of, beautiful underwear. If she loved him any more she might spontaneously combust.

Which was an actual possibility for her.

“It was on your night stand,” he said once he pulled himself together. “You know how nosy I am, Pep. Leaving it out was basically telling me I should read it. So I did.”

“You’ve been awake for what, an hour? That has to be several hundred pages.”

He waved a hand. “I skimmed the sources, Friday is looking into them for me. More importantly, why did D. Lewis give this to you to read? Is she angling to take advantage of your close, personal relationship with the Avengers? Me. Iron Man. Mostly just me. Only me. Because we should probably revisit that, if she is, make certain our relationship is very personal. Close. Proximal. Biblical.” He nudged her thigh with his hip and leaned into her space suggestively. When he was in a good mood, everything Tony did was suggestive.

“D. Lewis is Darcy, which you already knew,” she said dryly. “And she has her own personal relationship to an Avenger. Which you also already knew.”

“Hopefully not too personal. I saw Foster at a convention once. Madurai? Dallas? Somewhere ungodly hot. She had that look in her eye. I wouldn’t cross her. Unless, you know, I was me. Which I am, so-”

“So you are planning on starting up something  _ personal  _ with Thor?”

“I would but I am kind of tied down now. Shoulders to lick, legs to rub. Gorgeous red hair to twirl around my fingers. Despite the siren call of Muscle Beach and his sonnets, I think I’ll stick this one out. See where it goes.”

If it weren’t for years of experience and a wellspring of patience that would earn her a sainthood, Pepper might have been sidetracked. “The thesis, Tony. Why are you carrying it around?”

With a quick burst of air, not quite a sigh but more than a breath, Tony dropped the teasing. “She says I was wrong.”

Pepper let that hang for a moment. She hadn’t read Darcy’s work yet, but she had guessed that was where it was headed. It was one of the topics during her last big argument with Tony, which resulted in the longest break in their relationship to date. Not the Accords themselves - whatever Pepper privately thought about that agreement it had nothing to do with how she felt about Tony. It was his perception of them, his need for them, and his quickly realized but too long denied understanding of the mistake of them.  Her heart ached in sympathy. Tony had been narcissistic and egomaniacal since the day she met him, rightfully so in many instances, but he had never wanted to hurt anyone else. Above all things, he was extremely sensitive to that. He avoided emotional entanglements and spent his life before Afghanistan trying to protect people. Everything since his abduction had been a fervent race to correct what he saw as his own failing. His inability to keep his company safe. Himself. Pepper. Rhodey. The entire world. In his mad rush to fix everything, he had made mistakes. Huge mistakes. Along with his ego, however, came a stubbornness that could press him to develop clean energy and hold him back from admitting the truth. 

“Were you?” Pepper had to force herself to breathe normally. Tony knew the Accords were terrible. She knew he knew that. He regretted what had happened between him and Steve; she knew that too. If the fabrications and designs she had seen in his lab were any indication, he had even come to believe that James Barnes was not  _ only _ the Winter Soldier. Not necessarily a murderer. Knowing a thing, and confessing a thing were worlds apart.

“Not on all of it.” His voice was strong, but quiet, and his gaze focused on his toes and the cool tile floor. “Most of it, yeah. Most.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

He snorted, and in the blink of an eye serious, guilt- and grief-stricken Tony was replaced with obnoxiously charming Tony Stark. “Give her the wisdom of my critique. Obviously. I mean, look at this Pep. She quoted Ross. Three times. There are almost as many pages devoted to him as to me. She used Arial font.  _ Arial _ .”

“The mind boggles.”

“Exactly. How does Lewis expect to succeed in the field of - of - what is she studying?”

“Dispute Resolution and Public Policy,” Pepper clarified. The irony of Tony Stark, of all people, giving advice on the study of dispute  _ resolution _ was not lost on her. He didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Good god, is that a thing? A real thing? Universities are just stealing people’s money now? Making up degrees to keep unemployed liberal arts graduates off the streets?”

“Pepperdine seems to think so.” She continued before he could get sidetracked into an old argument, “And before you say it, yes, I know how you feel about Pepperdine. And no, they do not need a Virginia Potts art gallery.”

“We’ll table that discussion for another time. She’s here right? Friday-”

“You are not going to wake Darcy just to complain about her graduate work. At least wait until after she has breakfast.” It wasn’t asking a lot, but for Tony it might be too much.

“If I may, Boss. Ms. Lewis left early to run errands before her lunch date. I unlocked the key box for her, as Ms. Potts authorized.” Friday’s interruption made Tony frown, and Pepper took a quick sip of juice to cover her smile. Thank god for artificial intelligence.

“Date? The unemployed liberal arts intern has a date?”

“She’s a lovely woman, Tony,” Pepper suggested, then swiftly followed up with, “who has every right to go eat lunch without being interrupted by mannerless billionaires with boundary issues.”

“I’m not mannerless,” Tony said, trying to look offended. “Jarvis taught me better than that. I would have paid for her lunch.”

“Let it lie, Tony. Take a few days to think about what it is you want. It isn’t like you don’t know where to find her.” Pepper crossed her fingers that Darcy would be understanding when Tony inevitably showed up on her doorstep with insults to her hard work and a most likely ridiculous offer.  If nothing else, Darcy deserved one afternoon with her Little Sister. The kid was adorable and smart in a scary way that reminded Pepper of Tony. That outing did not need to be interrupted by a Stark. Tony was still looking determined, so Pepper set down her juice and smoothed one hand down the button of his shirt, letting her palm rest against his stomach. “If you are staying home for a while, I can think of a few ways we could work on our communication.”

“Why, Ms. Potts,” Tony’s eyes gleamed. “I’m shocked. Shocked.” He tugged her off the stool and began herding her back to their bedroom. “Tell me more.”

“I’ll need to evaluate you in action first.”

“An oral exam?” He laughed, light and delighted at her silly insinuations and his own ridiculous pun. “I studied for hours last night. I’ll do my best to impress-”  He came to a full stop in the hallway, eyebrows coming together over his nose. “Friday? What keys did Lewis take?”

“The sixty-seven Karmann Ghia, Boss.”

“What? That’s not-”

“Tony,” Pepper said in her firmest, most serious voice. The one for letting the Board of Directors know when her decision was final. “You have a lot of extra credit to make up.” She leaned into him, watching how his eyes were still distracted but feeling his hands come to rest on her lower back and drift from there. “And I have a pair of reading glasses in my nightstand.”  He swept her legs out from under her with an excited hum and a quick kiss before carrying her straight to their bed.

_ The things I am willing to do for a friend, _ Pepper thought. Although, it wasn’t entirely selfless. Not even mostly.


	4. On the Rocks

**_October 13_ **

 

Tight. Close. Fire. Darkness.

Steve was burning. His bones and blood crackling and seizing, consuming him from the inside out. His skin was too small. Dry. Brittle. Crushing weight was pressing on him. His lungs wouldn’t work. Fear gripped him. A terror that went beyond anything he had ever felt before. He was dying. Suffocating. Burning. His nerve endings sparked and frayed. The fire went from hot to cold - beyond cold,  _ cutting _ \- but still raced through him. An icy conflagration that used all the oxygen, leaving him nothing.  He forced his jaw open; the joints popped and cracked, but he felt no relief.

Then it was over. Air rushed in through his nose and mouth in a great gulp. It tasted like antiseptic, frost, and steel. It was the sweetest scent he had ever known. It had taken only a second or two, but the sensation was seared into his memory. Another glimpse of hell to add to his collection.  His eyes popped open, but his vision was blurry.

_ Calm, Steve. _ The words whispered through his mind and then withdrew.  _ Wanda.  _ He sucked in another deep breath. It was coming back to him, where he was, what he had agreed to do. It had been his own stupid plan, after all.

Once the last trigger had been removed from Bucky’s mind, it was time to figure out how to make him whole. He wanted the arm Stark had designed, although Steve knew his friend still was not convinced he deserved it. The technology was lighter and more responsive that the original. It also lacked the Soviet star on the shoulder. Stark had helpfully provided several sketches for alternative logos. None of them were acceptable. Or even very funny. It was the opinion of T’Challa’s top medical team that the arm should be attached by the designer, or at the very least with someone intimately familiar with such work. Since Tony still hadn’t called Steve, they had to look for the next best alternative.

While Bucky had been on ice for so many months in Wakanda, Steve had plenty of opportunity to come up with contingencies. A little help from Natasha and Scott provided the solution. There was no one who knew Stark tech better than Tony, but the person who came closest was his biggest competitor. Luckily, Hank Pym was a close friend of Scott’s. 

“Well, not close,” Scott had said over the phone, “so much as nearby. And not friend so much as mentor. Employer. Acquaintance? So I broke into his house once - okay, twice. And I’m kind of dating his daughter. Well, not dating. Seeing. Sometimes. Like when she’s free and I’m free and we’re both-”

Steve had gotten the idea. His most important question,  _ could Hank Pym be trusted _ , had been laid to rest by Natasha. There had been nearly a month of meticulous planning to ensure that Pym would be ready to complete the procedure. That the arm would be ready for attachment. That Bucky’s body - his abused nervous system - would be able to integrate with the new tech. That five wanted fugitives would be able to enter a country where their faces were on lunch boxes and backpacks without drawing attention from authorities. That there would be a safe place for them to lay low during Bucky’s recovery. And then…

_ And then I just have to convince Tony the Accords were wrong. Apologize to Rhodey and try to make up for causing his paralysis. Reunite Vision and Wanda and repair the rift my actions caused between them. Help Bucky continue to reclaim his old memories, a life free. Figure out a way to get Clint back to his wife and kids and let Pepper know it wasn’t Tony’s fault and talk to that spider kid about responsibility and safety and denounce Secretary Ross and find Bruce and- _

He blinked. A long, slow press of his eyelids to clear his vision and settle his thoughts before he had a spontaneous recurrence of asthma. The hard edge of panic and overwhelming responsibility was closer than he liked. When Steve opened them again, he had no trouble making out the concern on Wanda’s face or the bag of hamburgers in Sam’s hand.  One thing at a time.

“I’m starving,” he murmured. His throat felt raw, but already the serum was healing up any damage from the cryostasis unit. He sat up, taking in the low lighting and barren room. Natasha had scouted the location. It was an old County building, used for storage, with an abandoned morgue underneath. The tile walls and stainless steel counters and tables had been scrubbed until they gleamed and bleached until germs would shrivel up at just the scent. Steve didn’t think it smelled so great either, but the aroma of seared beef and hot fries distracted from it.

“Of course you are,” Sam rolled his eyes and reached into the bag, setting four double cheeseburgers on an array of napkins. “What did you do before 24-hour fast food?”

“Your metabolism will be working far above your normal rates for a time.” The doctor T’Challa sent with them was taking readings on a tablet and moved to pick up a syringe.  “You’ll need to consume approximately twice your normal calories to keep up with the cell repair needs.”

“No blood samples,” Steve ordered. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust T’Challa, but he had only given samples twice in his life. Once to Phillips, and those had been misused to create Hulk and Rumlow and who knew what else. The second time he had been asleep in Fury’s facility and couldn’t object. As far as he knew, all the genetic material they had collected had been destroyed or transferred to Bruce’s safekeeping, but he wasn’t willing to risk having anything else out there.

“You know that was cleaned before we arrived, yes?” Wanda was watching Sam carefully construct a protective layer of napkins between his fires and an autopsy table.

“I don’t eat where dead bodies have been, Wanda. I’m civilized like that.”

The doctor’s lips tightened and she dropped the syringe back to her tray. “It would be more sanitary if you did not eat in here. At all.” Steve gave her an apologetic smile, but didn’t refuse the food Sam offered.

He climbed out of the cryo unit and took a huge bite.  _ Heaven. _ “How’s Buck?” He asked as soon as he had swallowed the first bite. He glanced quickly at the second cryo unit, still closed. “No problems getting through customs?”

“Oh!” Wanda turned huge eyes on him and her lower lip trembled. The dark wig she wore made her face even paler than usual, and her slightly baggy black slacks and sweater made her look thinner, almost emaciated. “If my parents had lived to see the sacrifice my brothers made in service to their country!” Her American accent was quite good; she had been practicing with Sam and had a faint trace of the South in there somewhere. “I just have to take them home, so they can be buried with our family.”  Steve shifted uncomfortably. Wanda really was a good actress. Real tears were welling in her eyes. It reminded him too much of all the women that had been left behind when their brothers and husbands died in the war. Reminded him of the brother that Wanda had lost.

“It was no problem,” she continued in her normal voice. “There was a tiny hitch at our layover in the Philippines. They almost shipped you to Japan instead of Chile. But I cried all over a soldier at the airport and they halted outbound planes at our terminal until they found you.”

“Just cried?” Sam asked suspiciously. “No whammy?” 

“He lost three brothers in action,” she responded with a guilty shrug, “he was sympathetic without any assistance.”

“I appreciate not being in Japan.” Steve balled up his first wrapper and grabbed a second burger. His stomach was so empty it might try to eat his kidneys if he didn’t fill it soon. He lifted his chin at Sam. “And you two?”

Sam grinned and threw an arm around the doctor. “Newlyweds. We make the cutest couple.” The doctor frowned, but Steve had to admit she was beautiful. Dark, silky looking skin and short, tight curls that emphasized elegant bone structure. 

She pushed off his arm. “Thankfully, it is over now.” She almost stomped away to the second cryo case in the room.  _ Beautiful, but prickly. _  “Sergeant Barnes remains stable and all of the equipment is working perfectly. As you instructed, I have left him in stasis until you are fully recovered. Once you feel capable of subduing the Sergeant, should it be necessary, I will initiate the thaw process for him.” 

“Go ahead,” Steve nodded. He turned to the others. “How far out is Pym?”  

Sam pressed a finger to his ear, activating his comm. “Clint? You got an ETA on the dream team?”  He nodded a few times and snorted before conveying to Steve and Wanda, “They got a late start. Should get here about ten or eleven a.m.”

“No doubt Scott’s friends have delayed him. I cannot wait to hear what happened.” Wanda grinned. The doctor muttered to herself and fiddled with Bucky’s case. Steve tried not to look at it for too long. Both cryo chambers had been designed to look like coffins to better get through customs. Because of their reduced size, they had limited power - limited time they could keep a person frozen but still alive. That knowledge combined with the memories of a letter he had written to Bucky’s mother, an empty coffin she had buried decades ago, made it uncomfortable to see his friend confined and still as death.  _ As if it was ever easy. _

“We are on a schedule,” Steve reminded her gently. He hated to rebuke Wanda - something Sam swore she took advantage of. Steve couldn’t help himself, she reminded him a little of Rebecca Barnes and that was enough by itself to earn her a soft spot with him. She was also brave, clever, pretty, and emotionally wounded. The combination had him fighting himself sometimes to remember that he should treat her like any other member of the team. Peg would have told him off if he did any differently.

“You mean the schedule that you generously padded?” Her smile grew wider, more devilish.

“She’s got you there, Cap.” Sam handed over the last burger and crumpled up the bag. “You still hungry?”

Steve could feel the four burgers already forcing carbs and protein into his system. It wasn’t close to enough. A drop in the bucket. He snagged a container of fries and shrugged. “I could eat.”

“So one more for you, and what, three for Barnes? He won’t eat as much, right?” Sam’s nonchalant tone did nothing for Steve. Steve knew that Sam knew that Steve was downplaying his hunger. And he knew Sam was using Steve’s protectiveness of Bucky to call him out.

It worked. He reluctantly admitted, “Another four for me. At least eight for Buck. And if you could find him some fruit - he hates oranges.” Sam snorted and relayed the order to Clint, who was the least recognizable of their group and the best trained in subterfuge. The archer would go on the food run and Sam would replace him as look out until he got back. If it had been just Steve, he would have ignored the hunger pains and moved on rather than inconvenience anyone or upset the schedule. But if he was ready to chew on his own arm, he couldn’t imagine how hungry Bucky must be. Outside of the same size meals a regular person would eat, his oldest friend only ever consumed protein bars. And those he didn’t eat enough of. Steve could only guess, based on a few idle comments that Buck had made, how his needs had been dealt with by his handlers. If the super soldier could function on an empty stomach they wouldn’t have seen any problem in keeping him on the edge of starvation.

“It will be fine,” Wanda murmured as Sam left. Steve nodded, walking around the long room to stretch his legs and test his reflexes. The young woman followed him. If he never went back on ice, it would be too soon. Still, it was the safest way for him to cross borders - his face was too recognizable. And after the heavy news coverage of the bombing in Berlin, there was no beard and hat combination that was going to make Bucky incognito. Buck hadn’t flinched at the proposition of using cryo stasis for transport. If, after everything he had been through, his best friend could manage it, then Steve had no right to complain. He had been scared when he climbed into the frosty little coffin. When the lid had closed he had kept his face carefully neutral, knowing there was a camera inside to monitor him. He refused to let his friends see the terror that was clawing at him, urging him to press against his confinement and escape. The first hiss of cold air had been the worst. They only thing that kept him from completely losing control was that is was not wet. If there had been water, he did not doubt the flashbacks of the Arctic Ocean would have overwhelmed him.  He had made it through, but he also made a promise to himself that neither he nor Bucky would ever have to be frozen again.

Clint returned with the food. Bucky woke and ate readily enough after Steve strongly suggested he should. The doctor fussed, and tried twice more to take blood and tissue samples. It wasn’t Steve’s firm denial that finally convinced her, or even Buck’s hard, dead stare. Wanda had stood close to the woman and whispered something low, and after that there were no more requests for genetic material.

It was after eleven in the morning when Hank Pym arrived. Clint alerted them, “Car approaching.” He whistled, “Sweet ride. One occupant. Looks like Pym.”

“Scott?” Wanda asked.

“Not with him.”

Steve met Pym inside the front door, at the top of the stairs. He extended his hand and the older man shook it without hesitation. Sam offered to carry the bulky case Pym brought, but the scientist refused assistance. “I am not here for my health, gentlemen. Let’s get to work.”

“What happened? Lang was supposed to drive you here.” Steve wasn’t too worried, Scott always seemed to turn up, but he prefered when plans went, well, as planned.

“Reason and good taste happened,” Pym replied dryly. That was explanation enough to keep Steve satisfied while Pym began his cursory examination of the arm Sam had smuggled through customs in his luggage. Pym consulted with the Wakandan doctor while he worked. Nearly an hour later, Clint spoke again over the comms.

“Either Lang has arrived, or we are being invaded by the worst undercover crew I have ever seen.” He swore, but there was a smile in his voice, “This is like a lost Monty Python skit.”

“What’s Monty Python?” Wanda asked. Steve didn’t know, so he left Sam to explain and stepped out of the room to meet Scott. 

“-like a real fine alpaca. It’s one of those super rare breeds, and they brush them for the undercoat, yo. Cashmere ain’t got nothing on this, you got to check it out man. I mean-”

“Scott,” Steve said as neutrally as possible. The skinny man smiled brightly. 

“Cap! Great to see you! How was your flight? Everything okay here? The place going to work out okay?”

“I got a cousin in Sawtelle who came over and cleaned it up real nice,” the man who could only be Luis interjected. Steve had spoken to him over the phone - never seen him before, but there was no mistaking his inability to shut up. “Just like that scary hot ninja said. She was all like, ‘I got a job for you’ and I was all, ‘Scotty, we gotta take this man, cause when a fine woman asks you for a favor, you do it. Even if she can’t cut you when you’re sleeping. And Ninja totally could cut you - you know what I’m talking about.” He pointed at another man, taller than Scott but just as thin. The man nodded and turned down his mouth in the most Russian expression Steve had ever seen. Which was telling, as he was close friends with two Russian assassins. “Ninja says this is a favor for The Man - and she don’t got to say what man, ‘cause you under the radar and shit, but I’m like, psht, I got this girl. ‘Cause I know how to play it cool, cause I got this friend up at Pelican Bay, see? And his stepdad has another kid from his second marriage to this weird ass woman from Los Alamos that joined the special forces, the kid, not the lady, like a Green Beret you know, and-”

“It’s fine,” Steve interrupted. “Thank you.”

“So is Natasha here?” Scott looked over Steve’s shoulder to peer into the morgue. It required a lot of jumping for the much shorter man. “I thought she was going to meet us here. Hey, is that the arm?” His eyes got wide, “Awesome.”

“Did you need something?” The low, smoky voice came from the shadows right behind Scott, and he jumped again, clutching his chest. Luis and the two other guys pressed back against the wall of the stairwell, as far away from the blonde in the UCLA sweatshirt as possible. Natasha looked like a college student, down to the ponytail and backpack. It was unnerving.

“Ninja woman,” Luis whistled appreciatively, but did not move closer. He was smarter than he sounded. “Lookin’ fine, as always. I’m not usually about blondes, but you are workin’ it. I dated a blonde once, but not like a for real blonde. She had her sister bleach her hair at home, but, you know, like with real bleach and she-”

“Hey there, Natasha. What’s, ah, what’s - how you doing?” Scott winced and then pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to help out Hank.”

“You aren’t helpful,” Pym called out.

“I’m going to help out Wanda,” Scott corrected himself without missing a beat. Then he slid around Steve with the same grace that had made him such a good burglar. Natasha smirked.

“So, I was thinkin’ that maybe-”

Natasha cut off Luis easily. “Kurt, did you get that thing we talked about?” The Russian nodded seriously. “Dave?” 

The third member of Scott’s group, an African American man who looked appropriately scared of Natasha, answered, “Just say the word, boss.”

“Go.”

At that one syllable, the three flew back up the stairs to the main entrance. Steve watched them go with a laugh threatening to escape. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was from humor or panicky fear that Natasha might be forming her own army of ex-convicts.

“I have somewhere to be,” she said. “You will come with me to carry things.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Gee, since you asked so nicely. I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Nat. You remember, the surgery on my best friend?” 

“Beat it, punk.” Bucky’s low voice was filled with gravel and a faint trace of teasing. That he had spoken at all in front of Pym and the Wakandan doctor was a huge improvement over where he had been in August. Buck nodded at Natasha, who returned the gesture with equal seriousness.

“Captain Rogers, I have a variety of tests and simulations to run. We will plan on beginning the procedure at three p.m.” Pym looked over a pair of narrow reading glasses, mild disapproval in his glance, “But I imagine I will be able to muddle through without your expertise.” Whether or not the man was teasing was difficult to tell.

Steve shared a look with Bucky, the same look he had given him ninety years prior when they were both covered in mud and bruises and Buck’s mother was waiting on the other side of an apartment door to give her son hell. It said,  _ you want me to take this one for you? _ Buck returned that with his own familiar glance,  _ what you gonna do, talk your way outta this? _ Agreement reached, but not particularly happy about it, Steve turned back to Natasha. 

“Where are we going? I’m not exactly in disguise.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s a very discreet place.”

Steve followed obediently, but he remembered another trip, a long time ago, to a  _ discreet  _ place. He had gone to retrieve Bucky and found his best friend was the voice of reason in the center of a destroyed Italian speakeasy. Two Commandos were unconscious, another was sporting a black eye, and a bevy of armed ladies of the evening were alternately spitting curses at Bucky and using wickedly sharp knives to threaten a small company of trussed up Nazis.  Most of the town had been blown up.

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a sigh, “I’m sure.”


	5. Let the Mother Burn

_**October 13, 2016** _

 

Darcy had been out and about since eight in the a.m. Equipment components had been inspected at Stark Industries and Jane’s science minion directed to ship them overnight to the New Mexico lab. A new phone had been purchased and activated for Thor; the dude went through them at an alarming rate. Darcy couldn’t figure it out. He had no trouble regulating his strength around Jane or her, but get him excited near a tv or other technology and things seemed to get crushed more often than not. She picked out a ridiculous birthday card for her step mom and mailed it to the set she was filming at for the next few weeks. Sheryl would get a kick out of the smirking Black Widow children’s card which proclaimed birthdays to be ‘worth saving the world for’. Sheryl had a bit of a thing for the Black Widow. Darcy was pretty sure everyone with a pulse had at least a little bit of a thing for the Black Widow.

Errands defeated, she directed the totally sweet ride she had borrowed from Pepper toward Rancho Dominguez. The neighborhood where Maria lived was not the worst in the community, but it wasn’t the best either. It skirted the border between two gang territories, which left it in an interesting no man’s land where there was little organized crime. That did not mean there weren’t any challenges to residents. Especially young girls like Maria, bright, pretty, and with no living relatives except an older sister that was serving time in the State penitentiary. The kid had been passed around distant relatives and neighbors before she entered the system, and her luck there had not been good. By the time Darcy was assigned to mentor Maria, she had changed schools three times in two years and been in four foster homes in fifteen months. Her living situation changed again when Darcy found out the husband of foster family number four had interests in Maria that were disgustingly more personal that the State check she brought in. Darcy had called in a favor from Pepper and kept Maria at the Malibu house on an emergency basis until the man was charged with child endangerment and attempted sexual assault.

Maria’s latest situation consisted of an older woman and her granddaughter who was waiting tables and struggling to find acting work. They were strict, but kept a clean and safe house. Darcy tried to visit at least once a month, sometimes twice, and called to check in with her Little Sister every week. The apartment building was old, but well-maintained and across the street from the best pork chili that Darcy had ever eaten. The owner of the restaurant was always willing to keep an eye on Darcy’s car if she parked out front and tipped well.

He also bought and sold fake IDs for immigrants.

“ _Carina_ ,” Manuel whistled from his usual spot under the shade of a patio umbrella by the front door. “You have made the neighborhood more beautiful. The car is nice too.”

“Oh, Manny,” she fluttered her eyelashes and slipped out of the Ghia, ignoring the envious looks of a few other neighborhood regulars. The attention was worth it to get Maria excited about her favorite subject: engines. “You flatterer.” He laughed and she grabbed her bag before locking up and approaching him. “Think you could keep an eye on my ride while I grab some food and the munchkin?”

“Another of your boss’ cars?”

“Yeah,” Darcy lied easily. “I swear, I have no idea why anyone would own something they don’t have time to drive. But hey, no complaints from me, right?”

“I’ll make sure all the wheels are still here when you get back - if you can do something for me.”

Darcy took a seat, all business. “The usual?”

“I have some good papers, but they need a bit more...digital reinforcement.”

“Names?”

He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket. “Four, this time. People are getting nervous with the election. Wanting to make sure they will be secure, no matter what happens in Washington.”

“Probably a good call,” Darcy agreed. She took the paper without looking at it. Manny was good people, and the individuals he helped deserved to continue to stay in their homes, with their families, working and paying taxes. “I’ll call by next Sunday - if I don’t swing by on Saturday. These are all California?”

“One California plus Nevada; I put a star by it. The rest only need to be used locally.”

“Okay.” Darcy felt a little flutter of nervous excitement. She had made fake IDs in college for extra cash, and with newer cards that had bar codes it required a little bit of hacking to make them usable. She had done the same thing for Thor when he first landed. Once she became a little more familiar with the world and a little less dependent on illegal activities for income, she had started trading or giving them away for immigrants that were stuck in the often decade-long process of citizenship. _Give us your poor_ , she thought, not for the first time, _yearning to be free. As long as they can wait seven to_ _fifteen_ _years and risk deportation._ Her work wasn’t perfect, but it would fool local and state systems if not the feds. She slipped the paper into her bag and changed topics, “What’s good today?”

“It is all good, always. Do not insult my mother by thinking she would serve anything less.” He flicked a hand toward the door. “Go, eat. You are too skinny. And make sure little Maria eats too. Hey,” he called out to a teenager sidling closer to the Ghia, “that machine is a lady, _pequena mierda_. You look at a lady with your eyes, not your little _dedos sucios_. Is this how your mother taught you manners? No -”

Darcy left Manny expertly dressing down the kid outside. She was confident Pepper’s loaner would be in mint condition when she returned. While she waited for her order – extra pork chili – she worried. Her thesis needed a lot more work, at least another eighty hours. Jane had been grumpier than usual when she left New Mexico. It seemed lately that whenever Thor wasn’t around the scientist fell into a funk. Darcy had been trying new ways to cheer her up, bolster her optimism, but it was an uphill battle. Maria was doing better on the home front, but her grades weren’t awesome. They certainly weren’t what they could be. The kid was incredibly smart – Jane levels of smart – and she should have been skipped more than a few grades. She wasn’t applying herself though, and Darcy needed to find a way to convince her of the value of school. Sheryl was anxious about the lobbying efforts to get her last movie an Academy Award; that combined with her stepmom’s birthday – age undisclosed – was making Sheryl tense. Which made Darcy’s mom tense. She considered sending a chocolate Oscar with the Black Widow card. Her dad was doing well, so he said. ‘Playing the Field’. Darcy tried not to think about what that entailed exactly and instead considered ways to get him to meet someone stable. Someone who didn’t mind using clean laundry out of the basket, who enjoyed craft beer and small town law enforcement.

Manny’s mother came out of the kitchen to personally deliver her order – _double_ extra pork chili in a styrofoam cooler – along with admonishments to eat more, to tell that Maria to find better friends, to study hard, to find a nice young man, and had Darcy met her great-nephew? Darcy smiled, thanked her, and dodged the offer of a blind date. That was the last thing she needed. Her abysmal sex life aside, she had more than enough on her plate without trying to juggle dating someone who didn’t have the security clearance to know her roommate was the God of Thunder.

The woman gave some last advice as Darcy reached for the door, “ _Abre tus ojos!_ I will pray to _Santa Madre_ that you meet your match. You will bring your _bebes rechonchos_ to visit me.”

Laughter that was equally amused, endeared, and a little afraid of the power such a devout woman might have in prayer made Darcy turn her head back. She grabbed the door handle and pulled. “Don’t threaten me with fertility! I’ll be too scared to have good sex!” The few patrons crammed into the little restaurant chuckled and Darcy marched outside, her words ringing in the air.

She smacked straight into a solid wall of muscle.

“Ooof.” The air rushed out of her lungs and her glasses smooshed uncomfortably against her face. She nearly dropped the two bottles of soda she was carrying in an effort to save her cooler and the paper bag of food.

One huge hand caught both sodas while another wrapped under her elbow to steady her. “Sorry, ma’am.” The voice was sincere and immediate in the apology. Darcy looked up with an embarrassed smile, ready to take the blame.

_Captain America._

She blinked, her mouth still open. In a delicious, but definitely not well-known, Mexican restaurant in a sketchy neighborhood in Los Angles she had literally run into the most famous wanted man in America. Maybe the world. He had a small smile on his face. His skin was much more tanned than in photos she had seen of him, his jaw dusted with dark gold scruff but just as firm. The press releases and media coverage had not done his blue eyes justice.

“Holy shit, I should buy a lotto ticket,” she blurted.

His face immediately tightened, and she felt bad for her comment. The man was being hunted by most of the developed nations and was technically an Enemy of the State. Incognito was probably his main objective. His hand remained on her elbow, making certain she was on steady footing, but he also stepped back from her, separating them with propriety and awkwardness.

“Make certain you don’t use up all your luck,” another voice stated coolly. Darcy glanced past the enormous man in front of her to see a blonde co-ed hefting a backpack. She blinked. Darcy blinked. _The Black Widow just threatened me._ She was pretty sure she was staring at Natasha Romanoff, although her hair and makeup made her look younger than she was and her expression was bored bordering on insolent. _Sheryl is going to be so jealous._

“Dude,” Darcy managed, then winced at the juvenile term. “I do not have time for a police report right now. Or, like, ever.” She held up her bag of food, trying to assure the deadliest woman in existence that she was completely harmless. “These enchiladas aren’t going to eat themselves. And I have to get the car back before Tony comes looking for it.” She gestured to the Ghia with her chin. “That would be a real scene – you know?”

“Ma’am,” the Captain began. He seemed to suddenly remember he was holding on to her arm and quickly withdrew his hand. The weather had been chilly for the time of year, and even through her leather jacket she noticed the loss of warmth.

“Whoa, no worries. Go on about your business. Try the pork chili, it’s-” Whatever stupid ass thing she had been about to say was cut off as an explosion rocked the street. Darcy found herself pressed between the rough stucco of the restaurant and six plus feet of commanding democracy. Later, she would place blame for how long it took her to figure out what had happened on the smell of clean cotton, french fries, and testosterone. “What the fuck?” she breathed out.

“Stay down,” he pushed her firmly against the wall and turned to assess the street. The Widow was crouched on the other side of the door where she had pulled Manny under a patio table. She had a snub nosed pistol in her hand. Peering around America’s most eligible fugitive, Darcy could see the apartment building across the street. People were streaming out the front door; smoke was billowing from the fourth floor windows. That was Maria’s building.

_Fuck that noise_ , she thought. “Fuck that,” she growled out loud, shoving her food at Captain America. His arms came up automatically and Darcy was dashing across the street before he could utter more than a grunt. She had already passed the Ghia when the first shot rang out. Darcy ducked but kept running. If Destroyers and Dark Elves had taught her anything, it was that standing still during a crisis was a terrible idea. Tires squealed as a vehicle rounded the block. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure leaning out of a car window with a huge gun in hand. _Not good, not good. So completely and totally not good._

It occurred to her, as she barreled past a surprised _cholo_ who had dashed out of an alley, that she hadn’t taken Pepper’s admonishments to be careful seriously. Manny always watched the car, she never visited the neighborhood after dark, and Darcy had actually taken one of the self-defense classes her dad pushed on her. That should have been good enough. She was not, however, prepared to be in the middle of a gang war. The pop of another shot echoed on the street, followed by a spray of bullets from the speeding car. Darcy covered her head with one arm and reached her other hand into her bag, searching for her taser. She prayed, silently under her breath, to Thor and Frigga to keep her from getting any new holes in her body. She prayed, out loud and with fervor, to Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and a few Hindu gods that she could remember to keep her not dead.

Darcy cleared the apartment building front doors as another car and more shooting joined the street party. Inside, an older man and a pre-teen boy were trying to help a woman who had fallen down the stairs. Her left leg was twisted at a sickening angle and her glasses were broken. Darcy stopped looking for her taser and instead looped her bag across her body.

“Go out the back door,” she ordered the older man, helping them pick up the woman. The boy translated for the two adults. “Do you know what happened?” she asked.

“I think it was a couple floors up,” the kid said, shaking. Darcy could relate. Adrenaline was still rushing through her, but she could feel the crash, the shock, just around the corner – waiting for her to slow down so it could ambush her. “There’s,” he swallowed, his eyes large and flicking around the lobby, “there’s an apartment up on four. Everybody stays away from there. Those guys have guns.”

“Go out the back,” Darcy repeated. She took the stairs two at a time, the pace making her side ache and her legs burn. Maria lived on the third floor, and she was supposed to be waiting there for Darcy to bring lunch. She met two more residents, both hurried past her on their way out. The sound of gunfire was still audible, but muffled by the thick walls of the building. Her burst of energy was starting to wane, until she caught sight of Maria’s door. It had snapped, the cheap, old wood cracking across the center until the top half dangled from one hinge and a chain lock while the lower part lay in the hall. Huge chunks of plaster were missing from the ceiling and the smell of smoke and melted plastic was strong.

“Maria,” Darcy called out. She inhaled a lungful of acrid air and coughed. There was no response. Darcy tried to be careful, but her hair got snagged in the jagged edge of the door and she had to pull it out before she could crawl into the apartment. Most of the ceiling was missing – open to the floor above. To the right of the door was the bathroom and kitchen. Through the open doorways Darcy could see they were both empty. To left were the bedrooms. Maria shared the first one with the granddaughter waitress/actress. She had to use her shoulder to get the wood to move in the damaged frame, but after a few hits Darcy fell into the room.

“Maria?” There was still no answer. With her heart hammering, Darcy looked under both beds and in the tiny closet. Nothing. A rush of relief filled her. Maria wasn’t great at obeying authority figures, although she had warmed up to Darcy over the last three years. If this was the day she had chosen to be contrary, Darcy would be grateful. She hoped the kid had skipped out on homework and chores to get ice cream far, far away from the neighborhood. With the thoroughness ingrained in her from working with Jane, Darcy moved to the second bedroom.

“Mrs. Soto?” The door opened easily, but Darcy wished it hadn’t. More of the ceiling had fallen in the woman’s room, crushing her where she had lain on the bed. Blood, dusty and clotted with debris, soaked the bedding and puddled on the floor. Darcy only caught a glimpse of the obviously deceased body before she had to turn and throw up. She didn’t take a second look. There would be no saving the woman, and the violence had Darcy vomiting again, until there was nothing left but bile. She had seen bad injuries – even death – before. The Dark Elves had not been gentle with their invasion plans. This was something different. She knew Mrs. Soto, knew the name of her deceased husband – _Ernesto_. Her no-good son - _Miguel_. Her good boy who died in Iraq – _Augustine_. Darcy knew how she liked her coffee, how important hard work was to her, and that her tamales were salty but no one dared say anything. Darcy crawled out of the apartment on her hands and knees, shaking and trying to get a grip on herself.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the hallway. It felt like only a moment, it might have been an hour, but was probably a few minutes. A small voice brought her back to her attention.

“Miss Lewis?” A girl, the same age as Maria, was stumbling across the worn carpet, a younger boy under her arm. The smoke was much thicker than it had been. _How did I not notice?_ As soon as she did she also realized her eyes were watering and her lungs hurt. “Miss Lewis,” the girl said again, the second time with relief. She fell to her knees beside Darcy. “I can’t find my sister! She went up to the roof with Abe Gomez and Maria, but they wouldn’t let me and Xavier go with. There were men in the hallway outside our apartment! We came down the fire escape, and all the glass was broken in the apartment below us.” She was shaking, not quite pressing up against Darcy, but close. Tears streamed down her face, leaving streaks in the soot and dust on her cheeks. “What’s going on? I need to find my sister, but Xavier-”

“It’s okay-” Darcy coughed again and tried to search her memory for the kid’s name. Her brain wasn’t working properly. Maria had been in the building, was probably still there. And there were people inside. Men with guns. And explosives. “Sweetie, I’m looking for Maria, I’ll find your sister too. Go downstairs, quickly, and then out the back door. Some of your neighbors are there. Stay with them, okay?”

The girl nodded, and Darcy tried to bolster herself with the bravery she displayed in talking to her sobbing, coughing brother and moving them both towards the stairs. It didn’t work. As soon as the children were headed down and Darcy moved to go up, fear hit her all over again. Maria was her responsibility. So alone in the world, and she had had such a hard time. A sucks-ass, blows-hardcore time. She didn’t deserve this, she sure as shit didn’t deserve to have some drug-dealing gang move into her building and hurt the people who cared for her.

Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to keep moving. She couldn’t hear gunshots anymore, but the building trembled with the force of another, smaller explosion. Darcy had to clutch the railing to keep from falling. Dust and hunks of plaster reigned down on her. One large piece clipped the back of her head and made her stagger. _What’s one building?_ She tried to tell herself, _I’ve survived the destruction of most of a town, one building should be a cakewalk._ Hand over hand, she pulled herself up to the fourth floor, pausing outside the door. The lever was hot to the touch. Darcy kept going.

When she finally shoved open the roof access and cool air blew across her face she almost cried out with relief. She did fall to her knees then. It was a blessing. Shots rang out, pinging against the metal door behind her. Darcy threw herself on the loose gravel and hot tar and waited, one hand over her head, the other scrambling for her bag.

“ _N_ _gar laat yaar bhaat ngya nyya noutkwalmha pot_.” The words sounded Asian, the voice hard and clipped. Gravel crunched under hard shoes until boots stopped in front of her nose. Darcy didn’t wait any longer. She rolled, firing her taser as soon as her body was clear. The probes hit the man in the thigh, and he made a muffled shrieking sound before he fell, collapsing on top of her legs. Darcy kept the presence of mind to let go of the trigger before they touched. She kicked and struggled against his twitching dead weight, and charged the contacts again as soon as she was free. She dumped the cartridge and was pulling a spare out of her bag even as she stumbled away from him.

“Darcy!”

Maria nearly knocked her over, jumping up and squeezing Darcy until she could barely breathe. The older woman was more grateful than she could say. She hugged back, then pulled away to get a look at the girl.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt? We have to go, where is-” Another rumble shook the building and glass burst somewhere below them. A huge cloud of dust erupted from the stair access, and part of the roof caved in there.

“Oh, God!” Darcy focused on another girl, older than Maria by a few years and clutching on to a boy who might have been twelve or thirteen. She prayed it was the missing sister. “Oh, God!”

“ _Callate_!” Maria’s sharp order had a catch at the end, but she did not cry. The older girl obeyed, falling silent.

“What’s the sitch, _hermana_?” Darcy’s voice was a raspy croak, but she forced a grin. This was not a good time to freak out. She could freak out later, when kids were safe and they were no longer trapped on a burning building with a soon-to-be conscious armed bad-guy. _Speaking of…_ Darcy set Maria away from her and listened while she looked over the body for weapons.

“We came up here like an hour ago, Abe had some spray paint-” Darcy threw Maria a look, but kept searching for the gun. Maria had been in some trouble with juvenile court for graffiti. The kid continued, “We heard the explosion, and we were going to go back down, but then these guys busted out. They had guns, and like military shit,”

“Don’t curse, goddamnit,” Darcy said reflexively. _Ah, there it is._ She found the gun and picked it up, wondering what to do with it. She couldn’t leave it there in case he woke up, and she didn’t want to just throw it away where anybody could find it. She settled for pulling her spare t-shirt from her bag and wrapping it up before pushing it to the bottom under her tablet and other junk.

“Christ, Darcy,” Maria swore. “They used ropes to get over to the next building. But this guy didn’t go, cause you made such a fuc- freaking loud noise getting up here.”

“Well, excuse me, sassy pants, for wanting to make sure you were okay. Stay here, don’t go near that dude. I’ll be right back.” The sound of flames and the smaller explosions of heating glass grew louder. Darcy really hoped the building was all-electric. The last thing they needed was for a gas main to go up. There was a fire escape on the alley side of the building, and Darcy raced to it to look down. It was covered in glass, but looked sturdy. Sturdy-ish. Better than jumping. She waved the kids over and turned her head to glance toward the street. At the mouth of the alley was an unmistakable set of broad shoulders and a much smaller, blonde figure. They stood over a trio of men who were tied up and on their knees.

“Cap!” What Darcy had wanted to yell came out as more of a scratchy hiss. He didn’t turn around. “Fucking A,” she muttered.

“You sound like my mom,” Abe said as the three children leaned over the side of the roof. “She smokes like two packs a day.”

“Real charmer,” Darcy murmured. She waved her arms wide, trying to get the Captain’s attention. The fire escape would have a gap at the bottom, assuming the ladder was even in working condition, and someone should be there to make certain they got down safely.

“What’s his name?” Maria asked, helping the other girl over the lip of the roof.

“What?”

“Your dude,” she pointed to the Captain. “You need to use a guy’s whole name if you want him to pay attention.”

“Like _abuela_ ,” Abe shuddered and nodded with authority. He moved to follow the girl, but Darcy pulled him back, wanting to make sure the rickety structure would hold weight.

“Steve Rogers.”

“That is so white,” Maria rolled her eyes. Her face was still pale under the dirt, but her voice was stronger. “His whole name, Darce.”

Darcy had to search her memory. She had taken an undergrad course where he and the Howling Commandos featured prominently. “Steven...Steven Grant Rogers,” she rasped.

Maria turned without any preamble and shrieked Captain America’s full name at the top of her lungs like an angry fishwife. His head whipped around, followed by the Black Widow’s gun being aimed their direction. Darcy waved again, then pointed to the kids and the narrow metal stairs that lead to the ground. The older girl, for all her crying, had moved quickly and was already halfway down. Darcy gave the soldier credit, he caught on quickly. Leaving the bad guys under the Widow’s watchful care, he ran to the fire escape and pulled the last ladder down. He jumped and caught it with his fingers, but as soon as his weight was on the structure it groaned. He immediately let go.

“It won’t hold me!” He called up to her. “Send them down one at a time!”

“No shit, sherlock,” Darcy muttered. The guy was hot, and had saved the world a couple of times, but she could handle herself too. She sent the boy down as soon as the escape was clear. The railing shuddered, but held. She pointed to her Little Sister. “You’re next.”

“No way,” Maria shook her head. “We’ll go together.”

“It won’t hold us both. Come on, I’ll be right behind you.” The building trembled, and Darcy felt fear working its way past her carefully constructed barrier of shock and denial.

“We’re both small,” Maria insisted, “it will be fine.” The boy was off the ladder, and Cap was making motions for her to send the next person down. He didn’t look worried or anxious. Even from five stories away Darcy could see the calm confidence in his expression. That was what a hero looked like. Darcy grabbed Maria’s shoulders and stared into her eyes.

“You are going to get on this thing without me. You will climb down, you will thank the very nice man for helping us, then you will wait with him until I get there. Now, Maria.”

Maria gulped, but nodded. “You better.” Darcy held her breath. Fourth floor. Third floor. Fire bloomed out of the roof access, and she flinched and ducked behind the lip of the roof. The building shook again and she heard a scream. Leaning out over the edge, Darcy could see Maria. She was on the second floor landing, clutching the railing, but the metal bracing was pulling away from the building. The Captain was below her, arms outstretched and waiting. He would keep her safe.

“I’ll catch you,” he shouted. “Just let go!”

“Jump!” Darcy tried to yell, but she could barely hear her own voice. She nodded as hard as she could, pointing to the Captain and motioning for Maria to let herself fall. The look on her young face was painful. Frightened, lonely, and so increasingly brave. She put one dirty tennis shoe over the edge and then the other. When her hands let go, Darcy’s heart stopped.

He caught her.

Darcy watched him carry Maria all the way to the alley entrance where her friends were waiting. The Black Widow stood between them and the slumped over forms of the bad guys. Her Little Sister was safe, so that only left Darcy to save herself. _Sweet mother of pearl, I hate heights._ She muttered to herself as she gently set her feet down on the first rung, holding tight to the ladder. If she never left solid earth again, it would be too soon. She was planning on making Jane run her own errands from then on. She was certain, if she asked nicely enough, Pepper could pull strings and get Maria into a foster family in a nicer neighborhood. Maybe a single-story house. Gingerly, she let go so that her full weight was on the fire escape. Darcy breathed out a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

“Hurry!” Cap’s voice somewhere below made her frown, and she turned to look at him. That was when the entire structure groaned, shrieked, and began to twist. Bolts popped out of old brick and went flying into the neighboring building. Metal tore and broke, years of rust and neglect no match for the heat of the fire and the weight of one graduate student. Darcy lunged for the ladder. She heard the crash and the screams, but didn’t look down until she had heaved herself back onto the ledge of the roof.

The Widow was holding Maria back, who was fighting hard to get closer. Directly below Darcy were the remains of the fire escape. A pile of metal and crushed trash bags was all that was left of her exit strategy.

“Well, that blows,” Darcy whispered. The Captain had moved out of the way of the falling debris, and alternated between watching her with his hands held up in the universal ‘wait’ gesture, and talking to himself – one finger pressed to his ear. Darcy inched her way down the ledge. Hopefully the fire department would show up soon with a ladder, and she wanted to be in a clear spot when that happened.

A groan and scrape behind her, almost hidden by the roar of the fire and the distant wale of sirens, pulled her attention. Her attacker was moving. Darcy had his gun, but she very much doubted he would need it to kill her. She reached into her bag and pulled out the first thing her hands closed around.

Intramural softball paid off when a stick of deodorant smacked into Captain America’s open palm. His head whipped up to look at her. She grinned, hoping she seemed assured and adventurous but feeling nauseated and terrified. Darcy mouthed a single word, then jumped.


	6. Another Round

_**October 13, 2016** _

 

Natasha stopped at an older model coup a block away from the County building and popped the trunk. She handed him a fresh t-shirt, baseball hat, and sunglasses then waited with her hand out. She looked bored. Steve sighed, glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, and whipped his own shirt off. He didn’t realize until the new one was on how weird his old clothes smelled. An unpleasant mix of antiseptic and meat locker. The shirt was plain white. He put on the sunglasses and held the bill of the hat between his teeth as he tucked it in and adjusted his belt. He felt like he had lost a few pounds, despite the hamburgers.

“I’ve been trying to find of few of our old friends,” Natasha began. Her voice was eerie. Hers, but lighter and younger than usual. It never ceased to amaze him how easily and fully she slipped into character. Anyone listening, even random pedestrians, would think she was just a college girl. “They have been super hard to get in touch with, but I think I found a couple of them that are touring around Asia.”

“Asia,” Steve said flatly. He doubted they were under surveillance, but Natasha would know. He wasn’t sure what his role was supposed to be. He looked a little too old for college and Natasha wasn’t giving him any hints. _And Asia is a pretty damn big place._

She rolled her eyes and started walking. “Yeah. I mean, most people hit up the usual – China, Thailand – Japan is too expensive and you have to be brain dead to try North Korea.”

“Unstable,” Steve commented. Natasha squinted at him and he shrugged. He had seen dictators before, but the kid in Korea was an entirely different breed of crazy. Steve hated oppression, but Natasha claimed that it was a situation better left to other players. If he had less on his plate, he might challenge that, but as things stood he didn’t have the time to dig into the economic and geopolitical repercussions of overthrowing a corrupt government. He had his own government to deal with.

Natasha dragged him along on three different stops, burrowing further into Rancho Dominguez. She flirted in Mandarin, threatened in Spanish, and slid a bribe under a table with an observation in English about the weather. Steve did not actually carry anything. All of the packages went into Nat’s backpack. During their walk, she told a story about the dregs of HYDRA and where they had gone to ground. It was all couched in terms of college rivals and friends who had lost touch.

“I get it. You are the queen of subterfuge. Is all this really necessary?” Steve broke in with a heavy sigh. He had gotten better at hiding in plain sight – a necessity – but he would never be a spy.

“Not really,” Nat shrugged, then grinned at his open-mouthed disbelief. “Just checking to see how long you could go with it.” She glanced at her phone. _Nothing wrong with a watch_ , he groused to himself. “Thirty-eight minutes. Not bad. Myanmar,” she abruptly changed topics. “I am catching a lot of chatter about some unusual shipments there, a few known HYDRA agents, more than one suspected SHIELD traitor. I’d like to take a closer look, but I need to poach some backup.”

Steve flipped through his memories, and the stacks of textbooks and millions of articles he had read since waking up. “British Burma,” he said quietly. “Top five in opium production. Pledged to UN to reduce human trafficking by 10% over the next five years.”

“Nice to know you’ve kept up on current events,” Natasha dryly noted. “They’ll probably make that figure, but the big players will remain in business through government contacts and wealth. It makes the country a nice place for HYDRA to hide. Loose borders, widespread bribery, high poverty, and a fluid military. I’ll need a few weeks to establish cover, and then two – maybe three more to dig out what I want.”

Steve was already running through his contingency plans. “I’d rather not lose Clint until we are in a safe location again. Our nearest place is outside of Zihuantanejo, but it hasn’t been scouted yet. If Pym gives Bucky the okay, we could leave tomorrow and Clint could be back here by Thursday or Friday.”

“You can keep Clint,” the corner of her mouth quirked up in a little smile. “He fits right in with you and the other fossil. I’ll take Wanda.”

Steve frowned, ignoring the dig out of long habit. “She hasn’t operated independently since-”

“Then it’s time. No more coddling, Steve. Baby bird needs to fly.”

Steve was poignantly aware that Natasha had never received coddling. Or kindness. Or even a fair shake during her training and the years she worked for the Red Room.“Not everybody should be pushed out of the nest, Natasha.”

“I am going to teach her to fly, not smash her egg on the sidewalk, douse her with cream, and call the cats. Ease up, big brother.”

“I-” Steve abruptly snapped his mouth shut, not certain what to say, but sure that whatever stupid apology he tried would only shove his foot further down his throat. And he was still worried about Wanda. She had been doing better, but he felt uncomfortable letting her work without him. _Shit, maybe Sam is right._ He nodded sharply to let Nat know he wouldn’t disagree further.

“I assume you’re hungry?” Natasha gave him an out, although her expression said she didn’t think he deserved it. He nodded again. “How do you like spicy?”

“Well enough,” he replied cautiously.

“Hmm, well. After we eat, we’ll order take out for the others. It should be ready by the time you’re done with the heavy lifting.” She gestured to a small storefront up the block. The stucco was a garish pink, the lone umbrella over the sidewalk tables was faded blue and yellow stripes. Hand painted across the building was the name _Cocina de la Madre_. The lettering was elaborately shaded in greens and yellows. Two fat pigs peaked over the words.

“Bucky loves pork,” he said absently, then he caught up with what Natasha had been saying. “Heavy lifting? I thought you just brought me along for the company.”

“I am buying you lunch, Rogers. The way you eat, you owe me a couple of hours work, at least.” Natasha had no doubt been assessing the street since they arrived – probably had never had to start because she never stopped being wary and calculating. Steve took an opportunity to step up his general situational awareness to catalog more details.

There were two men arguing in front of the restaurant; the younger man looked cowed. The car behind him was shiny, older, and expensive – probably the cause for the argument. He counted nine other civilians on the street, and a dozen more that he could see in the surrounding storefronts. There was a large, ugly apartment building across from them. Most of the windows were open – no air conditioning, but at least it was cool outside. In the distance, he could hear a basketball game, children laughing, and someone grilling outdoors.

“What exactly is the job?” With Natasha, one never knew.

“Be large and intimidating. There are some undesirables that have set up shop in this little slice of heaven, and I’d like to know why. You throw your weight around some, and then when they run home to tattle, I’ll get to introduce myself to their boss.”

“Are you telling me you don’t already know why?”

She smirked. “Rogers, you may be trainable after all.”

Steve reached for the door handle, good manners too ingrained to let Natasha open it. That and he knew she found it both quaint and irritating. It probably wasn’t healthy, but he liked irritating Natasha. He gave her his most innocent smile, the one that said butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. It had gotten him out of more than one scrape. His hand missed as the door opened inward.

“-fertility! I’ll be too scared to have good sex!”

Despite what Tony believed, loudly and fervently, and the ribbing from Sam and Clint, Steve wasn’t a complete prude. He never was – couldn’t have been, growing up in the neighborhood he did and basically looking after himself while his mother worked long shifts at the hospital. He had been, however, surprised by the complete lack of subtlety and propriety in the new century. He had grown used to hearing it, even if he still did his best to mind his own manners. The language wasn’t what surprised him into standing still, like an idiot. It was the darkly amused laughter, wide smile, and pale skin that grabbed his attention and shook him like an alley dog. _That is a helluva dame._

The collision with five foot nothing of warm soft curves only reinforced his thoughts. She let out a sharp breath, and he was enveloped in the scent of vanilla and floral shampoo, something like talc, and exotic spices. She stumbled back, her arms full of food, and nearly dropped her drinks. He snapped into action, saving two sodas and supporting her by the elbow. If that also kept her from getting any further away from him, that was completely unintentional. _Yeah, right. Tell me another one._

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said reflexively. He tried for an easy smile, something that would be reassuring and hopefully attractive. Steve wasn’t even sure why he bothered. He was supposed to be incognito. He had never been good with the ladies – even after he had a body they seemed to like. Hell, even his one attempt in the 21st century had gone down in a disappointingly slow fade of encrypted phone messages and increasingly awkward meet ups. Even if he wasn’t literally scheduled for a fight with bad guys in a few minutes, he was probably in the worst place for dating he had ever been. And that was really saying something. Saying something pathetic.

She glanced up with a smile curving her full lips. Dark curls had escaped her knit hat. Eyes an indeterminate shade between blue and green laughed behind thick-framed glasses. There were two tiny freckles high on her left cheekbone. Steve’s mouth watered. He tried to tell himself it was for the food.

Those eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Holy shit, I should buy a lotto ticket.”

She recognized him. _Goddammit._ He couldn’t even flirt with a beautiful woman anymore. Not that he ever could. That realization was depressing and killed his own smile. He made certain she was steady and then stepped back, putting a perfectly respectable thirty inches between them. _Goddammit._

“Make certain you don’t use up all your luck,” Natasha said. Her voice was neutral, but the threat was there. Steve wondered if she was upset that her op might be compromised. Or maybe she had really wanted lunch. With Nat, it was difficult to tell. The woman glanced around him at the spy, and her eyes widened further. He was not comforted that she recognized the Black Widow as well. That was just one more reason they should probably go back to the temporary base and get ready to move as soon as Bucky would be able.

The woman who had run into him waved her bag of food, “Dude, I do not have time for a police report right now. Or, like, ever. These enchiladas aren’t going to eat themselves. And I have to get the car back before Tony comes looking for it.” _Tony, surely she can’t mean? But how many Tonys in Los Angles lend beautiful women sports cars?_ Probably more than he wanted to know about. She gestured to the expensive automobile with her chin. “That would be a real scene – you know?”

“Ma’am,” Steve started, and then stopped. He wanted to ask if her Tony was Tony Stark. He wanted to apologize for running into her. He wanted to believe she wouldn’t turn him in. He wanted to ask for her phone number. He wanted to eat whatever the hell smelled so good – the enchiladas or her. Maybe both. A blush was burning just under his skin and would erupt at any moment, he was painfully aware. _I need to get out more. Or at all. Just as soon as -_ Steve quickly withdrew his hand from her elbow, only then realizing he was still touching her.

“Whoa, no worries. Go on about your business. Try the pork chili, it’s-” A explosion shattered the quiet afternoon and Steve’s instincts had him shoving her against the wall of the restaurant. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, to keep her from hitting the stucco too hard, and shielded her body while he looked for the threat. His hand made an automatic move for his back, only aborting when he realized his shield was not there. “What the fuck?”

He agreed with the sentiment. “Stay down,” he gave her a firm press to keep her in place and then turned away. The building across the street, the one with the Widow’s ‘heavy lifting’ had smoke streaming out the fourth floor windows. Civilians were crowding up on the sidewalks, phones out and pointing. Natasha had pulled the older man from the patio table down for cover, and had her weapon out.She didn’t look surprised, but her eyes were narrowed. Half a block to the north two young men were jogging toward the scene. Their long-sleeved shirts bulged noticeably with guns. Even over the noise, Steve could hear a car around the corner gunning its engine. Whatever had happened in that building, the situation was about to get much worse.

“Fuck that,” the woman growled. Steve raised his arms to motion her back but she pushed her takeout at him. He dropped it, but not fast enough to get a hold on her before she cleared the bumper of the sports car.A shot rang out, and Steve cursed under his breath as he dove into action. The woman was still running; the best he could do was give her some cover. He drew back his arm and flung the two sodas fifteen yards at the men jogging down the street. He clipped the one with his gun out, but the other managed to dodge the improvised projectile. Tires squealed as a vehicle rounded the block. A man with a bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face leaned out of the rear window and lifted a gun. There were civilians milling around, distracted and easily startled and the vehicle wasn’t slowing down.

“I’ve got the car.” Steve didn’t have to give orders, Natasha was already running toward the armed gunmen. She slid across the hood of a parked car and raced toward the surprised two. Steve stepped into the street.

“Stop!” He shouted. It didn’t do any good, not that it ever did. The car revved the engine and an automatic rifle swung around to train on him, ignoring the woman dashing toward the apartments. Steve jumped at the last possible second, landing feet flat on the roof of the car. The metal groaned and dented under his weight and the gunman swore, eyes wide. He fired, but the distraction Steve provided worked. The lowest bullet hit one painted pig and chipped _Madre_ , but the rest few into empty air. He reached down for the arm still hanging out the car window and continued to roll with his momentum, jerking the man out of the vehicle and onto the pavement.

Shots rang out behind him, along with the rapid-fire slap of flesh hitting flesh. Natasha would do her utmost to keep stray bullets to a minimum, but they needed to end the altercation as quickly as possible. A pickup truck, sparkly blue with a woman painted on the hood, fishtailed around the corner to join the fray. Steve did not have time for any more combatants. He tempered his strength and knocked the gunman’s head against the pavement, then picked up his weapon and flung him toward the sidewalk.

“Keep him down,” he snapped at the man still taking cover under the patio table. Steve didn’t wait to see if he would be obeyed. He yanked the magazine from the rifle and tossed it aside. The driver of the first car was grinding the gears, trying to get out of neutral and get away. Steve grabbed the bumper with one hand. With the other he pressed the barrel of the gun against the concrete and stepped on it. A hard tug snapped the plastic and metal at the slipring. Burning rubber filled his nostrils and smoke was clouding around his feet as the driver hit the gas. If he managed to take off at that speed, there was no doubt someone would be injured. Steve lifted the vehicle high enough to reach for the rear axle. It was spinning uselessly.

Steve seized it with his free hand and grimaced at the burn of heat and friction on his palm. He held the weight of the car there and let go of the bumper to get both arms under the car. The flesh on his hands was burning, and he bit off an expletive and pulled. Hard. It didn’t break, but the axle did bend. Sparks flew and the engine gave a hard grinding gasp before something inside snapped and it let off a billow of smoke. Steve flipped the car onto its side and turned to face the truck.

It had come to a halt in the center of the street, engine idling. The driver’s mouth was hanging open, his shock visible through the windshield. Steve tried not to use his strength and size to intimidate, but there were exceptions to every rule. He marched toward the truck, shoulders back and frown fully in place. Two steps in and another man popped up from the bed of the truck, bracing a gun on the roof of the cab and aiming right at Steve. The driver still hadn’t moved.

Steve charged. A second man stood beside the first and began shooting. With a twist and a leap that Natasha would have been proud of, Steve jumped over the sports car and used it for cover. He had drawn fire away from the civilians, who all looked to be hiding inside. These were people who were familiar with violence and how to survive it. It made Steve angry, that anyone had to live that way – teaching their children how to duck and cover.

“Captain!” Apparently, his disguise was just as bad as Steve had thought. The harsh whisper came from the restaurant. The front window was cracked; it shattered as another spray of bullets hit it. Low to the ground, the man from the patio table peeked around the corner of the destroyed door. “Will this help?” A heavy, scratched red rectangle came sliding out across the sidewalk. Steve stopped it with one foot. In the center was a worn silver handle; the back had two inches of solid insulation. He was pretty sure it was the lid to a Coca-Cola icebox.

Steve grinned. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled himself into a crouch, waiting for a break in fire. A small explosion sent more smoke and dust into the street and was just the distraction he needed. Steve ran down the block in a crouch, using parked vehicles for cover until he was even with the truck. The two shooters were still looking for him, trying to get a bead through the destroyed paint on the once fancy car. _Hope her Tony is more forgiving than mine,_ he thought with a grimace at what was probably thousands of dollars of repairs. He pushed that aside and focused on the truck in front of him. The driver was talking, yelling and pleading to the shooters in what Steve guessed was Spanish. He didn’t seem to want to stay in the fight. Steve didn’t blame him.

He braced one hand on the hood of a rusted coup and swung his legs up and out. The truck was close enough that Steve still had his knees bent when the soles of his boots hit the box. There was a groan of metal and the side panel dented; the pickup rocked with the force of his kick. Steve didn’t pause, but held his improvised shield over his head and braced against the little car. Whatever it was made out of wasn’t metal, and it cracked under the pressure, but held as he redirected the momentum of his kick, aiming higher has his legs recoiled. He pushed off with his palm, the cracked burned skin protesting almost as much as the vehicle, and propelled himself up and over the side of the box. He landed on his feet and drove one fist into the knee of the first shooter.

The joint crunched. The man screamed in pain. The second shooter spun around, gun in hands, and Steve met him with the shield. Two shots hit it point blank. Then the shooters face followed. Steve lowered his improvised weapon and crouched over the two, one holding his leg and crying, the other falling unconscious as blood sprayed from his nose. The rear window of the cab was open, and the driver turned, slowly. Steve picked up one rifle, holding it under his shield arm and using his free hand to bend the barrel. The driver’s eyes, already wide, opened so far white showed all around the iris.

“ _Dios mio_ ,” he whispered.

Steve did the same thing to the other gun, still ignoring the sobbing man at his feet. He dropped it into the bed of the pickup and said, “Don’t. Come. Back.”

A flurry of Spanish followed him as he jumped over the side and headed toward the burning building. Rather than drive away, the man in the cab propelled himself out, leaving his door open and his friends behind as he ran down the street. The situation on the ground was nearly under control. Several civilians had come out to take over guarding the two men Natasha had incapacitated. She stood over another at the mouth of the alley, looking up. Steve followed her gaze. A figure, five stories up and blurred by smoke, crossed the distance on a rope, swinging down onto the fire escape on the opposite building and disappearing inside. Natasha caught his eye, tipped her head to the side, and then was off, breaking through the locked side door and into the same building.

Steve jogged over to her last opponent and hauled him to his feet. He couldn’t leave a potential combatant unguarded, but he was still itching to find the woman with the wide smile. Semi-conscious and stumbling, the skinny young man barely slowed him down as Steve approached the front door of the apartment building. As he entered the lobby, another explosion, louder and more violent, shook the ground. Glass shattered somewhere overhead. A groan, a crash, and a heavy cloud of dust forced him to backtrack outside. The man from the restaurant patio was there, along with two women who looked mad enough to spit nails.

“We will take him, Captain,” the man said. “There were people still inside, some escaped through the back, but there are children that can’t be found.” Steve nodded sharply. Maybe that was why the woman had charged so fearlessly, so stupidly, through a gun fight into a burning building. If she had a kid inside, he doubted she gave a thought to the danger.

“Thank you, sir. Tie him up, if you can.” Steve dropped the shield and ran back into the apartment building, and up the stairs. He only made it as far as the first landing before he had to stop. A little girl was crouched there, trying to reach across the crumbling remains of several steps and into a pile of debris. Steve picked her up, moving her away from the dangerously unstable area.

“No!” she screamed. “Xavier! Where are you!”

“Is someone in there?” He set her down gently, crouching so they would be at eye level. Her face was blotchy with tears and grime. Her fingers were bloody and dirty.

“My brother. He was right behind me. Then the stairs shook, and the ceiling fell. He was right there!”

“I’ll get him,” Steve promised. “Wait outside. I’ll get him.” She stumbled, looking back over her shoulder as she limped down the stairs. _Goddammit_ _._ No matter how long he lived, how many times he saw it, Steve never got used to that look of pain and desperation on a child’s face. He wondered if he ever would. He prayed not.

The debris was mostly drywall and splintered joists. Steve considered it carefully before he moved, trying to see where it was stable or not and what could be moved without causing a bigger disaster. It cut the hell out of his burned hands, but Steve had no problem lifting things out of the way. As soon as the girl’s sobs retreated, he could make out a faint coughing. Crying. “Hey,” he called out, “I’m gonna get you out of there. Just a few more things to move.” He tried to sound calm, reassuring. He wasn’t sure he managed it. Sam was great at distracting civilians during a rescue. Steve did his best.

“How’d you get in here, anyway?” He could see a hand, caught between a crumpled railing and rotted lumber. The fingers twitched. _So small._ “Shouldn’t you be at school?” He heaved one more large piece of drywall away and the whole pile groaned, but held still. Grey with dust, except for a trickle of blood at his hairline, was a boy of maybe four or five. A beam had held the weight of the collapse off of him, but his hand was stuck, keeping him from digging his way out. It had been a good thing. Steve shuddered to think what would have happened if the kid had moved the wrong object and brought it all crashing down on himself.

“I’m not old enough. And ‘sts Saturday.” He sniffled. Then sneezed when more dust went up his nose.

“No way,” Steve said with a forced smile. He wedged one foot in next to the boy’s hip, bracing himself against the largest beam wedged in the stairwell. “You must be, what? Ten? Eleven?” He worked his fingers carefully around the kid’s wrist. It was misshapen, definitely broken. Steve figured there was nerve damage or the boy would have been screaming from the pain.

The boy laughed. It was a small sound, with tears lodged at the back of his throat, but it was something. “I’m five. I go to preschool.”

“Preschool, huh?” Steve kept his own large hand wrapped around the limb as he pulled it out. If the kid saw the injury that was making Steve’s skin wet with blood, he would not be so calm. “I never went. What do you learn in a preschool?” He tucked his free arm behind the boy, lifting him against his chest. He slung his good arm around Steve’s neck.

“The alphabet and stuff. I can write my whole name,” he boasted. Steve chuckled and bent his knees, preparing to jump. “Most of it,” the boy admitted. “Arrendondo is kinda long.” Steve pushed off, keeping his head low and the boy tucked against him. He cleared most of the stairs and skipped down the last few. A cloud of dust followed him as the blocked stairway collapsed behind them. He glanced over his shoulder. No one would be going up that way.

Outside, the man from the restaurant reached out for the boy, who was chattering excitedly about how ‘awesome’ their escape had been. The older sister lunged at his legs as soon as he cleared the doorway. Steve warned in a low voice about the boy’s wrist, and brushed off thanks as he looked for Natasha. She stood at the entrance to the alley, head cocked and expression stern. Steve quickly joined her.

“Local law enforcement is three minutes out,” she said without preamble as soon as he was close enough. “Looks like the street was gangs, but I’m more interested in these three. They were inside the building when it blew.” She nudged one man with her boot, and he scowled, his complaints muffled by a gag made out of his own shirt. Steve took in the captives quickly. Natasha had caught three men, all Asian and dark skinned. They wore tactical pants and boots. Wiry, but muscular. Nat had a red blotch on her chin, dark enough that it would be a bruise in a few hours. Whomever they were, they had serious training to have gotten in a hit on the Black Widow – even three on one.

“There are still people in the building. And the stairs are no longer an option. Three minutes isn’t soon enough.”

“You sure about this? Of course you’re sure,” Natasha answered her own question with the quirk of an eyebrow. She dug into the pocket of her jeans. “What is your cover and freedom against the lives of a few innocents?” Steve didn’t feel the need to respond, although her sarcasm – if it even was that – stung more than it should have. She held out a comm, and he took it. There was also no point in asking why she carried Stark-issued earbuds with her to pick up take out. She tapped her own ear.

“I need a pickup, and interference.” There was a pause while Steve forced his stiff fingers, skin cracking a bleeding a little, to form around the tiny communications device. “You know who I’m with. Expect the National Guard.”

Steve finally got it in his ear and tapped to activate the line. He heard Clint mid-laugh, “-take him anywhere. It’s like he has a beacon for hornet’s nests.”

“We can talk about my poor luck later,” Steve interrupted. “I have civilians trapped in a burning building, LEOs incoming, and three unfriendlies that Red wants to invite home for a chat. How soon-”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS!”

The scream was high-pitched, ferocious, and eerily reminiscent of the one time Steve had been caught peering into the window of the girls’ locker room at school. Steve had ended up wheezing, red-faced, hiding behind the cafeteria trash bins with a new appreciation for anatomy. It had all been Buck’s fault, of course. Steve’s head swiveled of its own volition, and Natasha let out a sharp exhale as her gun followed. Some part of him had been expecting to see thirteen year old Gertrude Akheimer, hair wet and eyes blazing. Angry even after ninety years that he had seen her unmentionables.

It was both relief and worry that flooded him when he caught sight of the smiling woman. Five stories up, he could still make out her dark curls under a heavy layer of dust. She had lost her hat, but otherwise seemed unharmed as she waved to grab his attention. There were three kids with her, and she pointed to a narrow metal ladder that descended to a fire escape. Steve was moving before the first kid even took a step. Just like the cast iron contraptions from his youth, this one had a telescoping ladder that would descend from the lowest landing to the ground. It pulled down easily, but when Steve started to climb; the ladder shook under his weight and a brick where the escape was bolted to the wall crumbled. He jumped down. Steve was heavy, but if it wouldn’t hold his weight, he couldn’t risk the woman and those kids on it at the same time either.

He yelled a warning, and she must have understood because she held the second kid back until he was helping the first one off the ladder. Steve ignored the chatter on his comm between Natasha and Clint. They couldn’t delay the police without also rerouting the fire department and the building couldn’t wait that long before it would be a threat to the whole neighborhood. Clint was offering extraction options, but Steve could only glance between the boy scrambling down the narrow stairs and the woman at the top. The boy was fast, but Steve worried it might not be fast enough. He had one foot on the ladder, the woman and kid still on the roof were shouting at each other, but Steve couldn’t make out their words over the dull crackle of fire inside and the distant sound of sirens.

He felt it before he heard it. The tremble of another explosion. It was smaller than the previous one, sending up smoke and dust and busting a few more windows. He had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last. Time was running out. Steve reached up and grabbed the boy, waving even as he set him down for the woman to get the next kid moving. The girl was gesturing wildly, and his eyes met the woman’s. He was too far away to see, but he pictured the blue-green sparkle behind her glasses. The last kid started down, and Steve managed a deep breath. He hadn’t realized he had been holding it. The woman gripped the roof ledge and tracked the kid’s progress to the second floor – then the building shook.

Fire burst out of the windows and shot into the sky from the roof. Roiling black smoke blotted out the sun for a moment, and Steve couldn’t see either of them. The kid screamed, and Steve focused. The escape was pulling away from the brick moorings, the metal closest to the building starting to warp under the intense heat. One knee over the railing, the kid was holding on for dear life as the structure swayed and strained. Metal shrieked as pressure increased – gravity taking a toll on the compromised steel. Steve held out his arms.

“I’ll catch you,” he shouted. “Just let go!” She hesitated for a moment, looking up, but Steve kept his eyes on her. She eased one foot, then the other over the edge, still holding on for all she was worth. The metal had to be hot, but she still waited a long second before she let go.

Steve barely noticed her weight. Like catching a bag tossed his way – except the bag clung to him like a spider monkey. He ran back to Natasha, praying that the woman had already started down. _Hurry, hurry,_ he chanted in his own head. Nat had knocked her captives unconscious and was doing her best to comfort the other children. Flashing lights lit up the storefronts outside the alley, and one of the nail -spitting women was directing an officer to the incapacitated gang members in the pickup.

“Help Darcy!” The girl in his arms ordered even as he set her down and turned to go back. The woman was holding onto the roof ladder, both feet on the top landing. She hadn’t gotten far enough.

“Hurry!” He shouted, wishing there was something more he could do.Metal twisted with a grating scream and brick exploded in bursts of dust as the bolts popped out of the wall. Steve ran forward, and barely stopped himself from being crushed by the falling structure. Half of a dumpster and the garbage piled around it were flattened. Behind him, the children screamed. Steve ignored it, his stomach twisting in a way it hadn’t since his first battle.She was hanging on. Five stories up, the woman – _Darcy_ – scrambled up the ladder faster than he would have thought possible. She nearly threw herself over the ledge of the roof, disappearing from sight for a moment.

Steve touched his comm without letting his gaze waver. “Extract Red. I’ll be right behind you.” A mess of brown curls rose up, and Steve let out a harsh breath. He held out both palms, trying to let her know to wait and he would find a way to get to her. The fire was too loud to shout over. Sam’s voice came over the line.

“We’re seeing the news footage, _Jesus_ – helicopter in your area. We can be on site in ten.”

“No time,” Steve bit out. He glanced at the other building on the alley. It had a fire escape as well, which looked to be in slightly better condition. More sirens were coming to a stop in the street. “Get Red. Better if only one gets snapped up in this.” He reached up to test the ladder. The metal was locked shut with rust, but it felt sturdy. He would have about a twenty foot jump from one building to the next, but the ropes Nat’s captives had used were still in place. He figured if the woman could hold on to him, he could carry her across – hand-over-hand. He’d done it in the Alps with a full pack and his shield. She couldn’t possibly weigh much more. He moved back to the center of the alley to give himself a short running start so he could jump up onto the intact fire escape. Steve glanced up one more time to make sure she was still okay. She had moved down the ledge, crawling on her hands and knees. He wondered if the roof was unstable. That would change things. Steve spoke into his comm,

“Virginia, can you see the roof?” He held up his hand to let her know he was working on it.

“News copter is swinging around now,” Sam replied. “Just a -”

Something hard hit his outstretched palm and Steve’s head jerked up. The woman was crouched, feet flat on the edge and knees bent, grinning from ear to ear. Steve had only a moment of confused fear before her lips moved, _Headache_ , and then she was falling. He had to leap into place to catch her, falling to one knee and feeling the jar of hitting concrete all the way up his thigh and into his hip. She was shaking, shivering, pressing herself into his chest and gripping his shoulder with small fingers that felt like dull needles. Her hair was covering her face, and he couldn’t tell if she was conscious, so he huffed out a breath as he lifted her, blowing the curls back. Her eyes opened, the whites pink from smoke. There was blood smeared on the back of her neck, and up close he could see the sleeve of her jacket was torn and wet with more blood.

“You’re-” she coughed. He couldn’t help but glancing down at her as he walked, willing her to stay awake. Natasha was holding the last kid back as she tried to get to the woman – _Darcy_. “You’re much better looking in person.” Her voice was raspy, and it took him a moment to comprehend what she said. It brought him to a full stop at the mouth of the alley. Natasha had let go of the kid, and was talking to the man from the restaurant. In the back of his mind, Steve noted that the spy remained hidden in the shadows. The men she had captured were no where to be seen. He glanced down at blue-green eyes and full lips. A smear of ash ran from her nose down her cheek to her jaw. _Who is this woman?_ The kid was tugging on his jeans and talking a mile a minute.

“You need to get cleaned up.”

Her large eyes widened further, dark lashes spiky with makeup, sweat, and probably tears. He winced internally. _That...could have used more work._ Steve almost flinched at Natasha’s pointed look. She didn’t have to say anything, he knew what she was thinking. _Smooth, Rogers_.

“I’ll take her, Captain.” The man from the restaurant was there, holding out his arms.

“Hey-o, Manny. What’s, ah, what’s cookin’?” She coughed as Steve reluctantly handed her over. Manny was shorter, but stocky and built with muscle. Steve did his best to avoid her gaze. She was a brave, selfless, beautiful person who risked her life for others. He was a wanted fugitive. And an idiot with two left feet firmly crammed into his gob. “See what I did there?”

“Very funny _carina_.” Manny looked to Steve. “Do not worry, Captain. This neighborhood has some experience with avoidance. No one will ever admit you were here.”

“Thank you, sir.” He nodded his head. As if his hand had a mind of its own, he watched himself reach out once more and tuck a brown curl behind an ear. “She needs medical attention.”

“She will get it. Thank you, for your service, and your help. _Ve con Dios_.” Manny nodded at Natasha, who returned the gesture and then disappeared into a service entrance of the neighboring building. Steve looked back only once, to see Manny striding toward a paramedic.

Steve followed a silent Natasha through two buildings, a narrow courtyard, and down a street until they met up with Clint driving a decades old brown van. Scott sat in the front seat, drinking a smoothie. He promptly offered another to Natasha. Steve threw himself on the floor across from three trussed up and still unconscious captives – then immediately regretted it when he was enveloped in his own smell of soot and sweat and something distinctly unnatural wafting from the carpet. Nat slammed the door shut and accepted her smoothie with a graceful nod.

“So,” Clint began after a few blocks had passed in silence. “You get a number?” Steve squinted, jaw hard. The archer said it with a straight face, eyes on the road, so Steve couldn’t quite decide if he was joking or not.

“Hey,” Scott looked up from his phone, “I really want to hear about that. It sounded just – just _fraught_ with tension. But Barnes wants to know if you got tacos?”


	7. Until Someone Loses an Eye

_**October 13,** _ _**2016** _

 

 

“Boss,” Friday interrupted Tony’s musing. The paper wasn’t bad. It was good, in places. A lot of places. He thumbed between the introduction on the erosion of personal rights in favor of the protectionist state and the last full section, more of a rough outline really, on potential corrections to the post-Accords political climate. Some of it was great. A very small some. Like, a smidge. A smidgen. Something minuscule. The errors in his own psychological profile were huge. Large. Numerous.

_Frighteningly real and appropriate._

“What’s up, Friday?” He glanced out the window of the jet, noting that he was still several hours from New York.

“My subroutine regarding tracking and isolating information on the web related to,” Friday’s voice went flatter and less Irish, as if she resented the wording he had programmed her with, “Capitan Traitor-Gator has been triggered.”

Tony grinned at the nickname. He would have to switch it up again soon. There wasn’t a lot of humor to be had in the situation between himself and _He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named_ , but he was determined to find it. The smile faltered as he stared down at the paper in his hands. One corner was already dogeared and curled; he caught his own fingers doing the damage and had to force himself to stop. Lewis stated that He hadn’t been wrong to refuse to sign. She wrote that _He_ had been justified. That Tony was reactionary and suffering from PTSD and the overindulgence of billions to assuage a guilty conscious. She also said that _He_ was rigid, ill-informed, and naive. And _He_ suffered from PTSD and repressed guilt, depression, and an over-developed savior complex. _So there._

“Start the show, Friday.”

Tony had designed a program specifically to track the Star-Spangled Bandits after they broke the Accords. It searched out their faces on news reports, YouTube videos, even social media posts. The thing was illegal as hell, but it had allowed him to track down the First Boy Scout and the One-Armed Wonder in Siberia. _Not that it did me much good. Should have left it alone. Didn’t want to know. Killer. Murderer. Traitor. Used. Tortured. Afghanistan and the shocks the water the heatdar_ _k_ _nesspainburning-_

“What am I looking at?”

“This is in Los Angles County, Boss.” Friday gave an address, followed by gps coordinates, and Tony listened, but most of his attention was on the screen. The camera angle was bad, and it shifted every time guns fired – which was a lot. However, even the amateur videography couldn’t disguise the broad shoulders and commanding voice ordering a speeding car to stop.

Tony huffed, “Needs to work on his stage presence.” Six foot plus of blonde super soldier jumped straight into the air to land on the hood, denting it and stopping the vehicle short. _Not bad._

“Additional posts are going up online,” Friday reported. The screen split and Tony took in more shots of America’s favorite fugitive bringing justice to gang members. There were a few glimpses of a blonde with a distinctly familiar fighting style in the background, but her face was never clearly photographed. A wide pan caught a burning building, the windows exploding, and in the foreground a Karmann Ghia that had been shot to shit. Tony stilled.

“Is that my car?”

“It appears so, sir. The tracking system is currently offline, but the last recorded location matches the source of these images.”

_Lewis._ Tony’s mind raced. Lewis had taken the Ghia. She wrote the paper. She had said Tony was wrong. She knew _He_ was wrong, too. She knew how to fix it. She could tell him, show him, she could fix it if he asked. He just needed to think about it. Time. Time to think about it and to convince her and to make certain she understood it wasn’t because Tony was wrong or had made a mistake but because it needed to be done and he hadn’t had a choice and he just needed _time_ for fuck’s sake. His heart was racing painfully. His sternum ached with the remembered pain of installing the reactor. Of removing the reactor. He had only agreed the night before to make something new with Pepper. A new design, a new model, better and with a future that wouldn’t mean anything if he couldn’t fix things and without Lewis he might not be able to-

Another video started and Tony jabbed a shaking finger into the projection. “This one, maximize.” Friday obeyed and Tony leaned forward in his seat. There _He_ was again, standing at the mouth of an alley. Fire and smoke made strange shadows behind _Him_. In _His_ arms, clinging to _H_ _is_ neck was a soot covered figure. Leather jacket. Dark jeans. Brown curls. Tony zoomed in further on the face. Lewis. She looked just like the images he had pulled up after reading her paper the first time. Her eyes were open and her mouth was moving. Lewis. Alive. _He_ had saved her. Of course. Tony’s lips twisted with irritated resignation. The one person that Tony needed - _Pepper doesn’t count, because she is more than a need, essential, necessary, everything – He_ had. She was safe, though. Safer with _Him_ than with anyone, even with the warrants out for him. Safe until Tony had time to think. To plan. To figure out a way to make sense of all the shit that had gone wrong, that had turned out so poorly despite his intentions.

_The road to hell…_

She wouldn’t be safe if the police and the national guard came busting down on _Him_. If Secretary Ross caught sight of the video files. Keeping Snowflake Soldier and the Super Un-Friends out of a major military action that could cost civilian lives was one of the very good and perfectly logical reasons for why he had never told Ross how he had found the Super Soldier Twins.

That, and Ross was a dick.

Tony typed in an authorization code. “Wipe it, Friday. No muss, no fuss.”

“Shall I continue to monitor for a period, Boss?”

“Forty-eight hours should give them a good head start. After that, let one or two of the posts through.” Tony grinned again. “That one,” he pointed. There was a video with Captain Liberty Bonds nearly tipping over a blinged-out pickup. _He_ had a makeshift shield in one hand and there were two losers with automatic rifles who looked ready to shit themselves. It was no vibranium masterwork, but Tony had to admit _He_ had style. Bad style, but still. “The Coke company is going to be sweating if they should use it for promos or not. That PR should be good for a laugh.”

This could work. It would work. Tony fixed things. That was his job. It was what he was. _Who I am._ He could fix this too, he just needed a little help. A tiny bit. A smidge. His thumb was toying with the edge of the papers again. Lewis was small. She would fit the bill perfectly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Kevin Bacon. Thank you all for sticking with me and for your lovely comments. You may have noticed that each story in this series is slowly filling in the time between Civil War and the upcoming Ragnarok. I'm just guessing, of course, as to the circumstances of the next movie, but hopefully this will all still fit in even after the 2017 Thor installment. I am working on more installments for Unlikely Singularities, but if there is a particular scene that you want to see play out, or questions you have for where a character is or what happened after or because of one of the stories already posted - please let me know! Up until now I have been posting randomly in the timeline, but if you have a burning desire for a specific moment, why not respond to that curiosity now? Thanks again, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy!


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